The Space Between
by Tru False
Summary: Don's day goes from bad to worse when an interview with a potential witness takes a turn for the worse. Rated for strong language and violence. This story is COMPLETE finally.
1. One

**Disclaimer: I have neither association with nor rights to anything related to the television show Numb3rs. But I do like it.**

Scene breaks are designated by 123123123

**The Space Between**

**By**

**Tru False**

**Chapter 1**

It was a beautiful day out—cold but clear—and the sun played off the hood of the suburban like a bright, happy little dancing light. Don squinted at it behind his sunglasses, annoyed.

He had been irritated since the meeting this morning when Charlie had shown up, uninvited and unannounced, and had told them about his breakthrough idea for an equation on the check fraud case. His brother could waltz around FBI headquarters now as he pleased—normally Don was happy not to have to go sign him in and out every time, but today, it had annoyed him. Everyone was excited about the equation and its possible implications—normally Don would have been proud of Charlie, but today, it had annoyed him. Terri, thankfully, seemed to get that he was in no mood, and was staying uncharacteristically quiet in the seat next to him. Charlie, who of course had to come along, was also quiet in the back seat. Don looked in the rearview mirror at Charlie's head bouncing up and down slightly with the bumps in the road—it annoyed him. _When everyone and everything is irritating you, it's usually not them…it's you _his conscience, which sounded suspiciously like his father's voice, chided inside his head.

Don pulled the black Suburban neatly into the bank's parking lot. As Terry and Charlie began to unfasten their seatbelts, Don turned to Charlie in the backseat.

"Charlie, you can stay here. We just need to ask this guy a few questions."

But Charlie looked bouncy, almost exuberant. "Well, okay…but it's not like I don't know everything that's going on with the case," he countered. "I'd like to come with you…I would know what questions to ask to be sure the data we get is right for the equation I have in mind."

Don knew Charlie was on the edge of his seat. He could probably already see the equation forming in his head…where it might go three steps down the line…four steps if step three went a certain way. It was what he liked to call Charlie's "math high," and it had always irritated the hell out of him.

Don took a deep breath and Terry smiled slightly as she got out of the car, closing the door on their conversation.

"Charlie" Don started, irritation clear in his voice, "Terry and I are professionals, alright? We certainly know what questions to ask a potential witness, and we don't need a consultant—no matter how gifted—to help us do it." That seemed to deflate his brother quickly. Don swore under his breath. "Look, Charlie…" he paused as if trying to put his thoughts across in the right way, "I really appreciate all the help you've been giving us lately." Charlie looked out the window and squinted slightly – he knew where this was going. Don moved his head to the side, trying to get Charlie to meet his gaze. "Buddy—Really, I do. But you're not an Agent, alright? You're not a member of our team, you don't need to be in on every meeting with us, and you don't need to help us question witnesses, period." Don paused and waited until Charlie finally looked at him. "Just, please, wait here in the car…we'll be right back and you can start working your equation with whatever this new guy gives us. Okay?"

Don unfastened his seatbelt and put his hand on the door handle. He turned back slightly towards Charlie's direction. "Charlie…okay?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie turn back towards the window. "Yeah, that's fine" Charlie mumbled, already sounding far-off as he stared through the window at what Don could only guess was some imaginary chalk-board or vector graph or…whatever.

"Good" he said quietly as he got out of the car, an old but familiar feeling of ditching his younger brother suddenly kicking in. After all, Charlie had been extremely helpful on several cases—invaluable, in fact, a few times. He could see where it would be demeaning to have to wait in the car. But Don was feeling a growing need to establish the order of things. Don was in charge, Terry was his partner, and Charlie was none of the above…and lately those lines were getting a little blurred. He pushed the guilty feeling down, annoyed at the situation, annoyed at himself, but mostly still annoyed at Charlie and his ever-present tag-along mentality.

**123123123**

Terry had waited for Don by the steps to the bank. She smirked slightly at him as he approached, turning into step with him as they went up the stairs. "He wanted to come along?"

He shook his head ruefully. "Of course…it's just like when we were kids. He's driving me crazy. I wish he would just get his own life and live it."

"Well, you were the one who brought him in as a consultant…"

"I know that."

"And he has helped us solve several cases much more quickly than we could have otherwise…"

"Terry, I know that too." Don said shortly.

"And he'll probably help us break this one open once we get him some data. He seems to actually enjoy financial fraud cases, unlike us…"

Don stopped at the top of the stairs. "Terry." She stopped and turned toward him. "You're not helping."

She gave him a suppressed smile. "I know. He just seems to really be getting excited about all this…about working with us." _You_ she corrected mentally.

She turned to start walking again, but stopped, surprised when he didn't move with her.

Don took a breath and held it, looking up slightly, like he was trying to express something difficult. She studied him closely. This sort of thing was rare from him.

"What?" she prodded after a few seconds.

He let the breath out. "I guess sometimes I feel like…like I'm always having to fight Charlie off. Like he's always got to get a foot into my life, and then he starts doing whatever I'm doing, but better, and faster, and…smarter." There was that word again. "I don't like feeling that way about him," he added quietly. He waved his hand then suddenly, as if to push these admissions away. "This is stupid. I'm acting like a little kid. None of this matters…we're adults now and it is what it is."

She grabbed his hand as he made to start walking. "Don't do that."

He looked down at her hand holding his and felt his heart skip. She let go and looked hard at him. He felt like she could see right through him. It had always been that way, and it had always unnerved him. Truthfully, it was a big part of why he had left her. She could easily have gotten too close. But what had scared him personally made them a great team professionally, and he was glad of their friendship now. He wasn't good at talking to people, but with Terry, at least he sometimes felt like trying.

"Come on," he said after a moment, breaking eye-contact, "let's get this guy questioned and get out of here. After all…" he grinned at her, "Charlie is waiting in the car."

She returned the smile as Don reached for the heavily tinted double doors and opened one, letting her step through first.


	2. Two

** The Space Between **

**By**

**Tru False**

Chapter 2 

"Stay down! Do not move…no one moves, and no one gets hurt. This will all be over soon…nobody do anything stupid!"

This was an amateur act through and through; the idea probably hatched over a night of booze, drugs, and cheesy gangster movies. Two guys with ski masks, shotguns, and trash bags for the money…and they had chosen to hold up—of course—the local bank. The operation was definitely lowbrow, but that could also make it dangerous. Five people—customers—were huddled in various spots on the ground. There was a security guard seated in the corner who was holding the back of his head, clearly dazed. A suit next to him…probably the manager. Two tellers worked feverishly, looking pale and sweaty. Experience and sharpened senses allowed Don to evaluate all of this almost instantly, and he was already reaching under his jacket to draw his sidearm as the door swooshed shut behind them. He knew instinctively that Terry was scanning their perimeter, making sure there were no threats to the sides, and that she would also be ready to reach for her weapon. Instead he heard her suck in a sharp breath and he knew she had seen something.

To their right, about eight feet away, a much smaller guy wearing a navy zip-up sweatshirt and blue jeans had spun around suddenly. He had a ski mask and shotgun, just like the other two robbers. He yelled in surprise when he saw Don and Terry, firing his weapon simultaneously.

There was a massive blast from the shotgun and the kick almost made the kid drop it. Don suddenly felt the wind knocked out of him and was pushed back hard against the wall behind him, then his chest exploded in pain. He felt like he needed to cough but he struggled to draw breath. Terry watched as he grimaced in pain, slid down the wall, and lolled onto his side on the ground. She was beside him in a second.

"Don?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly. His eyes were wide with either shock or pain, and he still had not been able to draw a breath. His hands moved reflexively over his chest and she stilled them with her own.

"Everybody stay down! Do not move!" one of the robbers was yelling to the group around the counter.

The larger of the two robbers left his partner and advanced on the one who had fired his gun. "Jesus Christ! I told you to watch the door, not shoot anyone!"

"I'm sorry Danny! I was watching you guys and then they came in…he was going for a gun." His voice was strained and Terry guessed from his size, dress and demeanor that he was younger than the other two…probably little more than a teenager.

"He's lying, my husband doesn't carry a gun!" Terry cried, hoping to deflect the claim. The one advantage they still had was that these guys didn't know who they were up against…they would underestimate them, especially Terry. She needed them to believe they were just a couple heading into the bank.

"Shut up!" The larger guy fired back at her, and then, softening his voice, turned back towards the kid. "Look, it's okay. But I told you to watch the door, not us…remember?"

The kid nodded, looking down as if ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay…and hey," he waited for the kid to look up at him and then told him in a voice so low that Terry barely heard it "don't use my name again, right?"

"Sorry." The kid looked down again. "You know you shouldn't 've said that," he ventured after a pause, and chanced a peek up at the larger guy.

"What?"

"Earlier—you took His name in vain."

The guy was quiet for a moment. "I know. You're right—I shouldn't 've. You just…surprised me real bad."

"I'm sorry." The kid looked down again.

Terry could see through the ski mask that the larger guy was smiling ever so slightly. "It's okay. Now watch these two really close, and if either of them move, shoot again, just like you did before. You did real good." He looked pointedly at Terry who was stationed protectively in front of Don, then patted the kid on the back and walked back over to his partner by the main counter.

**123123123**

Don had actually been shot several times in his life, but not with a shotgun and never at such a close range. The pain in his chest was so intense that he wondered if the pattern had pierced his armor. He was vaguely aware of Terry talking to him…telling him to breathe. _No joke._ He tried to concentrate on her voice above the pain. He felt her place her hand under the right side of his face, supporting him as he lay on his side. He leaned into her palm, grimaced, and coughed once. It was agony, but afterwards he was finally able to draw in a shaking, shallow breath. Slowly the pain began to ease to a more tolerable level, and his breathing, though raspy, became a little more regular.

"Shhh…" Terry was whispering to him, "I know you've got to have some cracked ribs, but try to breathe quiet." He looked up at her incredulously. _I'll get right on that._

"They'll think you're dead or dying from a shot like that…no threat to them" she whispered again. He closed his eyes and nodded slightly against her hand. Breathe quiet…. good plan. But at this point, "dead or dying" felt like it might not be that far off. He thought suddenly of Charlie, safe in the car, and for once felt nothing but glad that he had been a jerk to his little brother.

**123123123123**

Charlie was bored. And quite honestly, he was pissed. He knew that Don leaving him in the car had nothing to do with protocol and everything to do with putting him back in his place. After all, he had gone along before when they talked to witnesses and it wasn't a problem. This was intentional, and it had made him feel like a little kid again, and that was what had really angered him. He couldn't for the life of him understand why Don wouldn't treat him like an equal. Sure, looking back he could see why Don didn't want his younger brother hanging around him in High School. Age differences meant a lot more back then. But now…

He had spent his whole life trying to impress Don—to help him and to earn his respect. But it seemed like the more he did that, the more Don bristled around him. He didn't know what he could do to change that. He knew, of course, that Don loved him…he loved him because he was his brother and he had to love him. But he wished that Don liked him. He wished that he didn't feel like most of the time when Don called it was because he – like everyone else, for that matter – wanted Charlie's genius for something. Not that Charlie was one to want to "hang out" a lot…he spent most of his time inside his own head, and he was happy that way. At least he thought he was…he hadn't ever really known any other way. These were difficult feelings to explain. And feelings weren't Charlie's strong suit anyway.

Frustrated, he leaned forward and dug around the Suburban's console until he found a pen. Terry had left a folder on her seat, and along with the documents inside it he found a few blank pieces of paper. He recalled the problem he and Larry had been working last week. In a few minutes, he had rebuilt it and was trying to break new ground. He easily became absorbed in the numbers as he worked. This was his ever-present safe-haven from the troubling thoughts and doubts that nagged at him…the one thing he could always count on to make him forget whatever was bothering him. When he heard a loud bang a few minutes later, it barely registered in his mind that a car must have backfired somewhere down the block.


	3. Three

**The Space Between**

**By**

**Tru False**

**Language Note: The "s-word" appears twice here…nothing else seemed to fit quite right. I feel that it is in context, but if you are sensitive to such things and it is going to ruin your day, you have been duly warned!**

**Author's Note: I hope you guys are enjoying this so far!**

Chapter 3 

Terry had positioned herself carefully to block the robbers' view of Don. Crouched down in front of him as he lay on his side, she still held his head with one hand and had placed the other lightly on his chest, willing him to breathe more easily. He looked up into her eyes a few moments later and nodded slightly. "It's getting…better now" he managed to whisper.

"Good" she replied quietly, and smiled. "Stay down." She gently laid his head down on the ground and turned ever-so-slightly on her knees in the direction of the robbers, trying to make out what their heated discussion was about. She could feel the kid watching them and she knew he was much closer to them…she couldn't risk turning enough to see the two leaders lest the kid notice Don's lack of visible wounds.

"Look—everything's still gonna work out."

"My ass it's still gonna work out…the whole thing's blown. We were supposed to be in and out of here, quick – no mess."

"It's still gonna work. We still just need to finish getting—Don't move! Don't you move!" There was a bustling sound and Terry could envision the guys swinging around with their guns trained on the various customers. Apparently one or more of them was thinking of trying something. Or maybe someone had just changed position—stiff muscles or whatever—and these guys were wound too tightly. It was impossible for her to tell from her vantage.

"They're wound up tight," Don whispered, so quietly that Terry barely caught it. She nodded almost imperceptibly at him. Good to know. The panic seemed to die down and the guys started talking again.

"Look, we're just gonna finish what we started and get the heck out of here."

"Yeah, it would be great if it was that easy Sherlock, but your genius brother over there screwed everything up when he freaked out and shot that guy."

"Don't talk about him like that." That had to be Danny—the one who had been talking to the kid earlier. He must have looked in the kid's direction after that, because his next words were "Hey! I told you to watch those two." She heard him approach. "How many times do I have to tell you? Stop staring at me and do what I ask you to!"

"I'm sorry Da—," he had caught himself that time. "I'm sorry."

Danny's attention turned to the couple on the floor. "How is he?" he called out to Terry.

Her heart rate increased slightly…they didn't need a lot of attention. "How do you think?" she tried to make her voice thick with emotion.

"Lemme see him."

"No! Stay away from us."

But she could hear Danny approaching to their right. _Shit_.

Danny stared at the guy on the ground for a few seconds, his mouth half-open in incomprehension. Then he drew his shotgun up and pointed it at them. "He's not bleeding. Why isn't he bleeding?"

She closed her eyes briefly. _Double shit._

**123123123**

Charlie reached the end of his last page of paper, having written on both sides and the margins of all the previous sheets. He swore quietly, frustrated. There was nothing worse than having to stop a train of thought mid-stream, but he couldn't keep working without something to write on. He put his head back and closed his eyes, trying to burn the two steps he could already see would follow into his memory. He then kept them closed for a few more moments in an effort to stop the swirl of numbers that kept flying before his eyes. It was always so hard to turn it off.

Eventually he opened his eyes again and looked towards the bank, even more irritated with Don than before. This was ridiculous…a total waste of his time. He looked at his watch. 3:15 – if they left right now, he would barely make it to his discussion group—and it didn't look like they were about to leave right now. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the math department, explaining that he had been unavoidably delayed and asking them to send a TA to dismiss the few students who might be waiting for him. He got out of the Suburban and moved around to the front seat, sitting back down with a huff as he closed the door. If he was going to have to wait in the car, at least he could sit up front like an adult. Terry could drive and Don could sit in the back for a change. That image made him smile. He leaned back and waited.

**123123123123**

"Back away from him," Danny stated evenly. But Terry wasn't looking at Danny. She was looking at Don, and he could see that she was thinking of making a try for it now. _No_, he willed her to understand. He could breathe again, but his ribs were on fire…he wasn't sure how well he could back her up. Plus that kid had his gun trained on them again, and, as Don knew all too well, he was both easily startled and capable of using it. Terry held his gaze for a second longer. Don opened his eyes a fraction wider. **_Not yet._** Terry backed slowly away from him.

"Put your hands up." She did as he asked. Danny addressed the kid behind him: "Watch her real close now, you hear?" The kid nodded, straightened his stance, and tightened his grip on the gun slightly.

Danny grabbed Don by the shirtfront and hauled him up into a sitting position against the wall. Don's ribs screamed in protest but he managed to do nothing more than grimace. Danny pushed on Don's chest with his hand, feeling the vest under his shirt.

"Who are you? Why are you wearing a vest?"

Don didn't answer.

"Take that coat off."

Don hesitated, but there was no way out of this now. He slowly removed his suit jacket, which was agony again to his ribs, and laid it down next to him. Danny's eyes narrowed briefly in anger as he reached down and took the gun from Don's shoulder holster. He picked the jacket up from the floor.

"What are you…a cop? Marshall? What?"

Don still didn't answer.

Danny pulled Don's ID from his inside jacket pocket. "Feds?" Don could read the guy's eyes …Danny was unprepared to have two FBI on his hands, and he was clearly scared. That was either really good news for them, or really bad.


	4. Four

**The Space Between**

**By**

**Tru False**

**Author's Note: Thank you guys _so _much for the reviews…it is almost ridiculous how happy they made me! And don't worry, we won't leave Charlie out in the car forever…we're just getting started with him. :-)  
**

Chapter 4 

Danny had stripped Terry of her gun as well and had used Don and Terry's handcuffs to secure them in the front area, about fifteen feet apart from each other. He had thought to take their keys from them too…for a novice, the guy was pretty thorough.

Terry's hands were cuffed behind the leg of a table against the right wall that had pens and deposit slips on top of it. It seemed to be bolted into the floor; if not, it was heavy enough that she couldn't budge it…she had already tried. From her position she could see both Don, who was diagonal from her, and the robbers and hostages in the main counter area to her right. Don had his hands cuffed behind one of the entry hall's stone pillars and was facing away from the main area, towards the front door—he wasn't going anywhere. He could see Terry on his left but not the robbers and hostages behind him. He probably had a limited view of the pathway and parking lot through the front doors, but Terry doubted he could see much of it as his pillar was pretty well off to the side. He looked like he was still in a lot of pain and she imagined having his arms cuffed behind him wasn't helping any. She realized that he hadn't looked over at her in a long time and when she followed his gaze she found that it was indeed locked on the doors. She knew he was watching for Charlie…probably praying he wouldn't come walking up the path.

Danny was now standing by the main counter with his partner, though he was keeping an eye on Don and Terry—who were still under the kid's guard—from across the room.

"This is bad, man. This is really bad."

"I know," Danny replied.

"I mean, he shot one of them." He waved his hand in Don's direction. "They're not going to just forget about that. If they catch us, we're gonna do some serious time now."

"I _know_," Danny stated, clearly agitated. He seemed to think for a minute. "At least he's still a minor."

The other guy was incredulous. "Are you kidding me man? Yeah, that's great for him, but I'm talking about us. We are screwed here. Do you understand that? Screwed."

"Look, just…shut up for a second and lemme think."

"Don't tell me to shut up." There was a dangerous edge to the guy's voice and Terry, who had always been blessed with a certain perspicacity, quickly surmised that this guy was what Charlie would have called "the variable in the equation". Danny was—to the extent that there were any—the brains of the operation. Plus he obviously had a soft spot for his kid brother…that could definitely work to their advantage. For his part, the kid was in way over his head, and anyway he was out of it half the time staring at his brother with some kind of wide-eyed hero worship. Terry wasn't sure, but she thought he might be a little on the slow side. Either way, it didn't matter—he would do whatever his brother told him, so he was predictable to a certain extent. But this other guy…this guy was dangerous. He was the loose canon, the balls of the operation…probably the one whose enthusiasm had taken this idea from drunk-talk into a poorly executed reality.

Danny stared at the guy for a few seconds but didn't respond. He obviously wasn't going to challenge him. Danny didn't apologize or back down, but he was smart enough to be wary. Out of the three, Terry decided he was their best hope to see reason.

She scanned the hostages. It didn't look like there would be any help there. The security guard's expression clearly stated that he didn't get paid enough for this, plus he was still nursing the back of his head. The manager looked like he was irritated but with a healthy dash of scared. No one among the group stood out as looking exceptionally calm or collected…no evidence of anyone with military or combat training. Basically, they were on their own here.

"What are you thinking?" Don half-whispered, half-mouthed to her from across their distance. He had momentarily taken his gaze off the door. She glanced at the kid—he was avidly watching Danny and the other guy's exchange.

"Danny's the smart one," she whispered back, "We should work on him. The other guy's the loose cannon. We might be able to get to Danny through the kid."

"That's what I was thinking…the kid."

"HEY! No talking over there!" The other guy…loose cannon…approached suddenly and rounded on Terry. "These two are scheming," he called back to Danny. "I could see her lips moving."

"Don't worry about them right now. They're not going anywhere," replied Danny.

"I don't care. They don't need to be talking. If he's not gonna watch them right," he pointed in the kid's direction, "then I will."

"I need you over here. They're cuffed…these people are all loose."

"I don't care." He turned on Don now. "I don't like people talking behind my back." He held the agent's gaze with a look somewhere between suspicion and hatred.

Danny seemed put out. He thought for a second. "You," he pointed at the female teller, who jumped slightly. "Gimme that coat thing." She took off her pale blue linen jacket and slowly handed it to him. Terry heard a ripping noise from off to the right and knew what was coming next. Sure enough, Danny appeared in front of Don a few seconds later with a long strip of the material…one of the sleeves. "Open," was all he said. Don paused and Terry was afraid for a moment that he might tell the guy to go screw himself, but in the end training must have won out over his temper because he did as told. She was relieved—they didn't need to raise the tension level right now.

Danny tied the gag tightly around the back of Don's head and threw the other sleeve to Loose Canon. "Do her," he said as he moved quickly back towards the hostages, checking all their positions to be sure no one had moved.

As Loose Canon leaned over Terry and tied the gag, he whispered softly to her "Oh, I'd like to."

**123123123**

Charlie had gone from bored to irritated to fuming and was now slowly crossing into concerned. It had been thirty minutes…that seemed like a long time for a witness interview—but then, what did he know? It was possible there were lots of details to go over, or that there was some kind of hang-up with the data the guy was supposed to provide (_another_ good reason why he should have gone along in the first place). Or maybe it was just that they had had to wait a while for the guy to see them. That seemed very possible. That would make sense.

What was starting to bother Charlie, though, was that there were several—seven, to be exact—cars in the parking lot other than theirs. Some of them could be employees', but this was a small bank…some had to belong to customers. That seemed like a long time for no one to finish their business, for no one to come out. Out of pure habit, he started to compute the probability of no one coming out based on what he assumed was the average time a customer would spend completing a transaction, but stopped himself. He didn't need an equation to tell him what he already knew. Something was up. But what? Had someone had a heart attack? But then an ambulance would have shown up. The notion that something sinister could be going on inside…a hold-up or something…seemed absurd. Those things didn't actually happen to real people. But then, that was wrong too. He had helped out on a case just three months ago…bank robbers. He pushed the uncomfortable memories of it down; that had not been one for his highlight reel. But that had happened to real people. In fact, that had happened to Don. What if it happened again? What if it was happening right now? The thought nagged at him.

If Don was in trouble, Charlie would never forgive himself for sitting in the car like an idiot. But if he was wrong…if he went in after Don had explicitly asked him to stay behind, then he would really piss Don off. He didn't want to keep screwing things up between them—that much he knew for sure. He sat back slowly and decided he would give them ten more minutes. That seemed reasonable. His leg bounced rapidly on the floorboard. Maybe he would make it five.

**123123123**

"So what are we gonna do now?"

"Look, I'm trying to think, just like I was trying to think before you freaked out about the whispering and I had to take care of that. Just give me a minute." Danny was frustrated. He just needed a second to settle down and think things through. There had to be a way out of this…it was just that every time he tried to think about it, three letters kept running through his mind: FBI. Christ, this was really bad. Grand theft. Aggravated assault. Deadly weapon. Federal pen. _His brother_. It was hard to concentrate, and of course his partner wasn't helping any.

"We don't have a second! Someone else is bound to come in here. This place is quiet, but it ain't that quiet."

Danny considered this. "You're right." _For once_, he felt like adding. "That's the first thing we're gonna do…make sure no one else comes in." He approached the security guard. "Give me the front door keys."

"I have them," the manager replied instead. He reached into his pocket and Danny took the keys from him.

"Okay…where's your closed sign?"

"Our what?"

"Your closed sign…you know… 'sorry we're closed for lunch'."

"Umm, we don't have one of those sir. We always stay open until our stated hours."

"Don't do that. Don't talk down to me."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

Danny waved his hand. "Shut up. You, coat-girl" he pointed to the teller, "Make a closed sign. Paper, marker…put… 'sorry, we're closed for'…I don't know… remodeling, water leak, just…whatever." There was a scuffling sound as she looked for paper and a marker inside her drawers.

Don was listening to Danny's words closely. He could hear the strain in his voice. The guy was losing it, having trouble thinking straight. That wasn't necessarily good news at this point.

"Hey, catch these." Danny tossed the keys to Loose Canon. "Lock the doors." As an afterthought, he added "and make sure no one's out there too."

Don sat up slightly when he heard this. He looked at Terry and found she was looking back at him, also aware of the possible implications. Loose Canon walked past Don and stood against the wall to the side of the doorway in front of him, peering out from the side through the tinted glass. Don watched him with growing concern.

"Nah…it looks okay…" Don started to relax, grateful. "…Wait a minute—" He paused, "There's a guy sitting in one of the cars. Black SUV."

Don felt his stomach drop.

"Black SUV?" Danny repeated, "You're kidding me…"

"No. Why?"

"Because that has to be the Feds' car" he replied in exasperation, "that's why." He moved in his direction. He grabbed the kid as he passed by him and stopped, "Listen to me and listen to me good…if you never do anything right that I ask you again, make sure you do this. Go over there and watch those people," he pointed at the main counter "and DO NOT let me catch you looking over here. You watch them, not me…understand?" The kid nodded fiercely and Danny, looking satisfied, moved to join Loose Canon at the doors.

"Ah, man. Can you believe this?"

"Yeah, today I can," Danny replied, peering outside.

"He looks edgy."

"Yeah, he does."

"He's looking right here…do you think he can he see us?"

"I don't think so," Danny replied, "not with all this tint, and not from that angle." He approached Don and bent down, pulling the gag out of Don's mouth. "What's your other guy's name?"

Don hesitated, but only briefly. "Kevin Wilcox."

Danny nodded and put the gag back into place.

"I'll go get him." Don's eyes snapped up to Loose Cannon.

Danny looked at him for a moment too, then said quietly, "Just bring him in here, alright? Nothing crazy."

"Yeah. No problem."

"What are you going to tell him to get him in here?"

"I don't know…I'll think of something."

Danny looked Dubious. "Just…take it easy, alright?"

"Yeah, no problem." Loose Cannon handed his shotgun to Danny and held his hand out. "Gimmie one of their guns."

Danny raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Just in case."

Danny looked wary but grabbed Don's service piece from a nearby table. He had taken the clip out and put it in his back pocket. He replaced it now and handed it to him. Loose Canon tucked it in the back of his pants and pulled his sweater down over it. "Be right back," he stated and headed out the door, pulling his ski-mask off just before he exited so Don could only see the back of his head. He watched the blonde head walk through the bright sunlight…walking towards _his_ Suburban, carrying _his_ gun…to get _his_ brother. He was momentarily glad of the gag, because he was able to bite down on it. Otherwise, he might have thrown up.


	5. Five

** The Space Between**

**By**

**Tru False**

**Author's Note: Again, thanks for your reviews. Don't worry fans of Don…I love both of the characters…hopefully there will be something for everyone by the time this is all over.  
**

**Language Note: Okay, again, there is some vulgarity here, especially at the end of this chapter. I promise I am toning myself way down; if I wrote the dialogue that was actually in my head, this would read more like an episode of Deadwood. So fair warning…there is some stronger language here.  
**

**Chapter 5**

Terry had heard the expression 'worried sick' before, but she had never actually seen it until Don had visibly paled before her eyes. He was straining as far left as he could against his cuffs, trying to keep a visual on Loose Canon as he disappeared down the path towards Charlie and their vehicle. She was sure it had to be hurting him, but if he felt any pain, it didn't show. The worry, though…that was plain to see. She leaned her head back against the table leg and said a silent prayer for all of them. She didn't really know what Don would do if something happened to Charlie, but none of the scenarios that played out in her mind were good.

**123123123**

Charlie had just decided that four minutes was long enough to wait when suddenly the bank doors opened and someone stepped out. He sat back, mildly surprised and somewhat relieved. Maybe they were just incredibly slow in there after all. He let out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding with a half-laugh. What an idiot he had been…if he had gone in there half-panicked he would have looked like a total fool. He shook his head at his own crazy imagination. _I may have to stop all this consulting_ he joked to himself…_it's making me paranoid._

**123123123**

Redd approached the Suburban with his mind in over-drive. What was he going to say to get Kevin Wilcox, FBI out of there? A smile broke out somewhere inside him, though it didn't reach his face. He couldn't really think of anything. He would just have to wing it. If the guy tried anything…well, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions then. A surge of adrenaline hit him as he neared the vehicle and the warm feeling broadened within him until even his fingers tingled. He hadn't had a good fight in a long time.

**123123123**

Charlie realized with surprise that the guy was walking towards him rather purposefully, and his relaxed demeanor diminished. Maybe there was a problem after all, and maybe this guy had been sent out here to get him. The guy nodded his head up at him as if to say "yeah, I'm here for you". Charlie nodded back and opened the passenger door to get out, but the guy didn't wait…he rounded the car and stood before Charlie with one arm stretched out holding the open door, effectively blocking his exit.

"Kevin Wilcox?" the guy asked, slightly out of breath.

Charlie was about to respond to the negative when his stomach churned. The name Kevin Wilcox meant something to him, something very personal. Kevin Wilcox had tormented Charlie throughout high school until Don had finally kicked his ass good and proper. It wasn't a happy ending though…Kevin had been a teammate of Don's on the varsity baseball squad, and though they weren't good friends, there had been no trouble between them until then. Charlie could remember standing in that classroom after hours, his broken calculator in one hand, his books and papers strewn across the floor around him…Kevin, bloodied and cursing as he staggered out the door…and Don, panting from exertion—he had given Charlie the most unfathomable look, then just shook his head and left. Don hadn't really spoken to Charlie for about a week after that, and though it had eventually blown over, it was something that neither of them spoke about again—yet each knew instinctively that the other had never forgotten it. Charlie knew, then, that there was no way the mistaken name was a coincidence. This was a message from Don. A message that clearly said _danger_.

**123123123**

Don had given up trying to see Loose Canon any more…he was out of his sight line, and Don knew their vehicle was parked well to the left of the front doors anyway. He watched Danny instead, who was still peering outside. His body language gave no clues though. Don took that to mean nothing had happened yet. But he could feel the tension pouring off of the guy, and it only served to increase his own. He was filled with a kind of sick, nervous energy…it was a feeling he hadn't had in a very long time. The only good thing about it was that it had taken his mind off of the stabbing pain in his side. Other than that, it was the worst kind of feeling…like he might explode at any second…like knowing with total certainty that the other shoe is about to drop, and just waiting for the when.

"Danny?" It came from behind them…from the kid.

"Yeah?" He was still looking out the doors and Don knew then for certain that he was extremely concerned about what might happen; one because he normally never ignored the kid, and two because he hadn't thought to lay into him again for using his name.

"Can you come here for a second?"

There was a pause while Danny still looked out the window. "Yeah," he mumbled, distracted. Another moment passed before he finally turned away from the doors and started walking over to the kid. "What is it?"

With nothing left to help him gauge what might be going on, Don had nothing to do but listen to his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. The seconds seemed interminable. He knew in reality that Loose Canon had probably only just reached their Suburban, but to him it felt like he had been gone for hours. He looked over at Terry but she had her head turned back towards Danny and the kid…probably trying to make out what they were saying. He turned his gaze back to the doors and waited. _One, two, three…_he counted the seconds. _Come on, Charlie. _Still nothing. _Six, seven, eight…_ And then it happened. A bang, a slight pause, then two more. Don stopped breathing. He knew that sound—it was long ago etched into his sense memory…the sound of his own gun discharging. He turned his eyes back to Terry and this time she was looking right at him.

There was a swoosh of air as Danny moved quickly past them back to his position at the door and peered out. He cursed, "Where is he?" he mumbled under his breath.

Don didn't know what to think. If Danny couldn't see them, then they had moved away from the Suburban. Maybe that was good. Maybe it was bad. He didn't know. He realized he wasn't breathing and sucked in a lungful of air. That brought the pain in his side back with a vengeance. He coughed slightly against his gag and winced. When it passed he locked his gaze on the doors again.

Danny looked like he didn't know what to do. He had moved directly in front of one of the doors and had his hand on it like he might step out. But he was hesitating…probably unsure of what was out there.

Suddenly Loose Canon appeared from the extreme left—he obviously hadn't come up the path but had cut across the lawn right alongside the building to avoid being seen. Danny jumped in surprise. He pulled the door open for him and blinding daylight streamed in momentarily as Loose Canon staggered inside and pulled the door closed behind him. Danny turned the key to lock it without even looking…all his attention was on his partner.

"Fuck!" Canon yelled after some panting, his hand covering his nose and mouth. The right side of his face was covered in blood and it was clearly his own…he was bleeding heavily from a deep cut just below the hairline, and he had several other broad scrapes across his face. He moved his hand away from his mouth and Don saw that blood was also coming out of his now very misshapen nose. He spat and something hit the ground…Don glanced briefly…a reddened tooth skidded a few feet across the tiles.

"What happened?"

"What happened?" Canon repeated, sounding stuffy "He attacked me, that's what happened." He lightly pinched the bridge of his nose and winced immediately. "Christ!"

"Is he that big?" Danny asked.

"No he ain't big," Cannon replied looking angry. "He's a scrawny little thing, but he's quick. And he cold-cocked me…no warning at all. I said 'Kevin Wilcox' and he just blasts me in the face, then keeps coming like he's fighting for his life. I don't guess _you'd_—" he advanced on Don suddenly "—have any idea why he would do something like that?"

Don couldn't help but smile beneath his gag. Charlie had really messed this guy up.

"You think it's funny…your buddy busting me all up?" He drew back his foot and kicked Don as hard as he could in the side. This time Don actually felt his ribs crack. He groaned and bent forward as far as his cuffs would allow, which wasn't much. "Yeah, not so funny now, is it? That hurts, don't it?"

"Alright, alright," Danny said, drawing Canon's attention back towards him. "So what are we—" he changed thoughts mid-stream "—how come you're bleeding so bad?"

"Fucker picked up a rock."

Danny felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth but he pushed it down.

"You think this if funny too—me getting hurt—you smug son-of-a-bitch?"

"No."

"Really? Because I don't think you'd think it was so damn funny if it'd happened to Boy Wonder over there instead." He pointed in the kid's direction.

Danny blinked reflexively. "Forget it. So now what?" He was back in nervous thinking mode and began to pace. "Because now it's just worse. We got a loose Fed whose gonna go for help, plus you fired that damn gun so the neighbors—"

"He ain't goin' for help."

Danny stopped pacing. "He's not?"

Canon rolled his eyes like it should be obvious. "Hell no…I didn't let him get away."

To Don, the world froze for a second. He forced himself back up despite his body's extreme protests.

"You didn't?" Danny asked, his surprise obvious.

"Fuck no. He's right out there. I just couldn't drag him any more by myself."

Don's heart sank, then shattered.


	6. Six

** The Space Between**

**By**

**Tru False**

**Author's Note: Reviewers, you guys are the best! I have to admit to being a long time fanfic reader, but a first time writer. I was hesitant to post, and I'm not really sure why, but I have to say the experience so far has been really great. To have your feedback and to see that some of the things that I am consciously doing (and sometimes unconsciously doing) are making it across to you is thoroughly rewarding. Thank you!**

**I noticed that I have been dropping an N from Cannon for quite a while now. Sorry—I know that sort of thing is annoying. Spelling never was my strong suit**.

**Lovers of angst, this one is for you.**

**Chapter 6**

Danny had gotten a first-aid kit from one of the tellers and had sent Cannon into the bathroom to clean up. Sporadic curse words wafted out into the hallway, but fairly soon Cannon emerged with a gauze pad taped to his forehead and most of the blood washed off his face. His nose had stopped bleeding, but it was swollen, misshapen, and already turning the area under his eyes yellow and black. One side of his mouth was very swollen and also yellowing…Don imagined Charlie must have gotten a good one in with the rock. All in all, his appearance was fairly gruesome, and although Don hadn't seen his face before the fight, he couldn't imagine the guy had looked much better normally—his shaggy blond hair fell over a squat face that housed too-small eyes and a wide, unattractive nose.

There was some more cursing from Cannon, who took an extra moment to throw one last dirty look at Don before he and Danny went outside to collect Charlie. Where Don had spent so much time staring anxiously through the doors before, he now found it difficult to make himself look. He wasn't sure what he was going to find. He indulged himself in a quick glance over at Terry. She was looking right back at him…a show of support. He held her gaze briefly before he forced his eyes back to the doors.

A few seconds later, Cannon appeared outside carrying a completely limp Charlie under the arms. Danny had his feet. Cannon struggled to get the door open and keep it ajar while he held Charlie's weight. He shifted Charlie and almost dropped him, half-catching him on his thigh and making one big push to open the door wider and bring him through. Danny was clearly struggling with Charlie's weight…he said something like "hold up a sec," but Cannon didn't listen and Charlie's feet slipped right out of Danny's grasp. Charlie's weight came down and Cannon dropped him completely this time.

"Ah, Hell…it don't much matter now anyway," he offered as he hoisted Charlie's top half up and drug him along the ground the rest of the way through the door and into the entry hall. He let him fall to the ground inside as if he were nothing more than a rolled-up carpet. The door shut behind them and Danny locked it.

Charlie had landed on his side facing Don, about eight feet in front of him. He was so still and pale that for one terrifying moment, Don was sure that he was dead. But then his eyes opened a crack and he lolled over onto his back. He seemed to struggle, his chest heaving up and down and his throat working reflexively. Don realized then that his brother couldn't breathe. Seconds passed, and Don slowly died. Finally though, Charlie forced out a cough…the blood that had been choking him spewed out of his mouth and ran down his chin. He grimaced painfully and swallowed. Then he began to draw in the most horrible, wracked, rasping breaths that Don had ever heard. Charlie's black sweatshirt was zipped up, but Don could see two small patches of wetness reflecting in the light…chest wounds.

As Don watched his brother struggle desperately just to pull in air, he felt pure rage boil up inside of him. Anger was no stranger to him, but he had never felt anything like this. It was something primitive. He screamed at the perpetrators through his gag, calling them every name he could think of, telling them to let him go and help his brother, telling them they were going to die the most painful, horrible deaths imaginable when he got his hands on them. Of course, it was all unintelligible to them.

"What's he all worked up about?" Cannon asked, taking in Don's muffled outburst.

"Probably the fact that you shot up his buddy there," Danny replied.

"Jeez." Cannon leaned down towards Don. "What are you, queer or somethin'?"

Don's raving only increased and he pulled with all his might against his restraints. Cannon just laughed and walked away.

**123123123**

Charlie now understood that he had never really known what pain was before. For one thing, he hadn't been hurt that much in his life. He had broken his arm when he was five—he knew that had hurt—but then, he'd been little and he barely remembered it. When he was twelve, he had gone over the front handlebars of his bike. In college he had stepped on a nail at a charity building site. But this… This pain was all consuming. It was widespread. Total. This had to be what dying felt like.

The pain was so complete that it was difficult even to think. He tried opening his eyes again and found he was looking at a ceiling…somehow, he had come inside. That was probably a good thing. Don was inside, he remembered, and a tiny glimmer of hope lit up inside him. Don would come soon. Don would help him. Don would fix things. But as the seconds passed, Don didn't come. There was some kind of commotion happening not far from him…muffled yells…it was hard to understand anything that was happening around him. Everything sounded like he was underwater, and there was a regular rasping noise that flooded his ears and drowned things out. He thought he heard talking, then maybe someone laughing. Charlie tried turning his head a fraction to the side, but as soon as he did, his vision swam and went dark around the edges. He slowly moved his head back, closed his eyes, and promised never to do it again.

Charlie had never been a particularly religious person, but he prayed now. He prayed for the pain to stop. He prayed for Don to come. He prayed he would wake up from this nightmare dream. He prayed to draw just one easy breath. But all Charlie's prayers went unanswered. As he lay there on the cold, hard ground, struggling just to remain conscious and to breathe, he felt completely alone. He thought of his dad. He thought of Don. He thought of Amita, and even Larry. He thought of home. If he had had any strength left in him at all, he would have cried.

**123123123**

When the guy had coughed up all that blood and started gasping for breath, it had made Danny feel sick to his stomach… kind of like watching a fish flailing around on dry ground. Next thing, the guy's partner had gone crazy. That had surprised Danny, because he had played it so cool up until then. Of course, all Redd had done was to make some wise-ass remark and then take off. Jackass. Danny stared at the guy on the ground…he wasn't real old…in fact, he looked pretty close to his own age.

Slowly, he reached up and pulled his ski mask off. It just didn't seem that important anymore. Redd was already unmasked, and besides…just watching that guy struggle to breathe, Danny knew they were all screwed now—for real this time. Protecting their identities had gone out the window a long time ago. The cool air felt good on his face. He looked down at the gun in his hands and sighed heavily. _Jesus_. This had never been part of the plan.

A movement to his right caught his attention. He looked over and saw Lonnie, his kid brother, pulling his own ski mask off a few feet away. Danny felt like laughing and crying all at the same time…the kid _always_ had to be where Danny was—he had taken immediate advantage of Redd relieving him and headed over to be with Danny instead. And he _always_ did whatever Danny did. Look at where that had gotten him now.

Lonnie was only fifteen…he didn't need to be seeing this kind of thing. Danny looked at him closely for a minute. He favored their dad in looks so much it was scary. But the similarities ended there, thank God. Lonnie was the one thing that Danny truly loved in this world…the only good thing that his no-account daddy had ever done. And here Danny was, doing his absolute best to screw him up.

Guilt weighed heavily on his mind as he watched his brother. He could always read Lonnie's expressions easily…the shock and distress were clear as he stared at the guy on the ground. But there was something else there too …interest…a little fascination, even. Danny didn't like it. He moved quietly to Lonnie's side. "Hey." The kid was still staring, his mouth slightly agog. "Hey," Danny tried again, and this time Lonnie startled slightly, broke his stare and met Danny's eyes. "Don't look at him anymore. You hear me?" The kid paused, then nodded slowly. Danny motioned to the main area where Redd was busy antagonizing the hostages. "Come on," he said quietly as he put his hand on Lonnie's shoulder and gently turned him into step with him. "You don't need to see that, you hear?" He ushered Lonnie forward and followed him away from the area.

The least they could do was to let the guy die in peace.

**123123123**

Terry was watching Don with growing concern. When his rant had died out, it had left him red-faced and heaving for breath. As his breathing slowed, he had fixed a laser-like stare on Charlie. In five minutes, she thought he had blinked maybe twice. Now he seemed to be almost breathing in time with Charlie—short, sporadic breaths—and she wasn't sure if it was intentional or if it was a result of the kick he had taken earlier. Either way, it scared her. He looked almost…catatonic.

Cannon had gone, and Danny and the kid had followed pretty soon after. She turned her head in their direction. They were talking quietly now and keeping a fairly casual eye on the hostages…it seemed like they had deflated somewhat after the excitement. They had all taken their masks off, and she looked at Danny. He seemed like a decent guy who had made some bad choices, but then—as she knew all too well—looks could be deceiving.

She turned her head left and looked outside. The bank was bordered on the far side by a fairly run-down residential area. Surely someone there would have heard the shots, would send for help. She looked up at the clock. It was almost four. Surely someone would try to come into the bank soon…if they just looked in through the doors, they would see her and Don and…Charlie. She fixed her eyes on him for a moment, but it was too hard to watch, so she turned her gaze back to Don, and was surprised to find him staring straight back at her. His eyes were bright—red-rimmed and swimming behind tears that he wouldn't let fall.

He shook his head at her. _I can't do this._

She held his gaze for a moment and nodded back at him. _Yes you can._

He shook his head again, harder. _I can't…_

She looked hard at him, and gave a single, slow nod. _Yes—__you can._

He blinked, then slowly turned his gaze back to Charlie. Her heart broke for both of them.

**123123123**

Don was in his own personal Hell. Every fiber of his body screamed at him to get to Charlie—to go help him, and to stop this terrible thing that was happening. His muscles tensed reflexively to the point that they ached. He wanted to close his eyes, to make the images before them go away…but he couldn't do it. He owed it to Charlie to go through this with him. If that were all that he could give, then he would do it—though honestly, he doubted Charlie even knew he was there. He was scared, too…scared that while he was watching, Charlie would just disappear before his eyes. He had never thought about what it would be like to loose him. Charlie had been so coddled, so indulged and well protected all his life that Don had never given the scenario any real though. Now, it seemed to be happening. It was almost surreal. His brother was slipping away from him. He almost couldn't process it. Charlie—was _dying_.

A cold panic renewed itself and swept through him. He pulled against his cuffs once more in frustration. They dug into his wrists, which were already raw from all his previous efforts. It stung sharply, but he couldn't have cared less. He understood now what it was that made a trapped wolf chew it's own foot off to escape—if he could have done the same, he would have. And that's when the thought came to him.

In junior high, before baseball had consumed all his free time, Don had played on the basketball team. In the eighth grade, he had been injured during a game—he had dislocated his thumb. It occurred to him now that if he could pop the joint out again, he might be able to slip out of the handcuffs. As far as he knew, it had healed well—at least, he had never had any more trouble with it. But it stood to reason that once a joint was dislocated, you could do it more easily the next time.

He bowed his head in concentration, grasped his left thumb with his right hand, and pulled hard—straight out and down. He felt the tension and there was a little pain, but nothing gave. He tried again. And again. And again. The pain increased each time, but still the joint wouldn't give. At some point during his efforts, he realized something was missing…something around him had changed. He looked up, confused at first—but then comprehension dawned. No rasping sounds. He looked to Charlie and found that he was once again struggling silently against the fluid in his lungs. His eyes were open wide, his throat was working quickly, and his chest jerked up and down. Don held his breath. _Charlie._

It seemed like an eternity, but then Charlie managed a small cough that expelled some pinkish, phlegm-like fluid. He pulled in a raspy, shaking breath and squeezed his eyes shut tight against the pain. Don saw a single tear slip out of the corner of his eye and roll down his face, dropping to the tile beneath him.

Something deep inside Don began to swarm with rage. He renewed his grasp on his thumb, bit down on his gag, and pulled hard. Then he wrenched this thumb back against itself violently. It occurred to him that he might break it, but he didn't care. Hell, he would rip it off if he had to.


	7. Seven

** The Space Between**

**By**

**Tru False**

**Chapter 7**

Don had anticipated the pain, but he had underestimated it. As his thumb gave way, a white-hot fire shot up the entire length of his arm, ending somewhere behind his shoulder blade. If felt like someone had grabbed one of the nerves in his arm and was squeezing as hard as they could. He threw his head back against the pillar and squeezed his eyes shut tight, breathing hard through his nose. After a few moments, the pain lessened to a heavy throb. He lowered his head and opened his eyes, taking a moment to gather himself—he still had to pull his hand out of the cuff.

He couldn't tell if he had broken anything, but he hadn't heard a loud crack, and for that he was thankful. He knew his efforts had been successful though…aside from the blinding pain, his hand felt like it had caved in on itself. He tried gingerly moving the other fingers and found that he had limited functionality, and that moving them drove the pain back up the length of his arm.

He grasped the cuff on his damaged hand with his good one and braced himself. Just one more time, and the worst would be over. He jerked down hard on the cuff—Don had always been one for the quick rip over the slow pull. It caught on the wide part of his hand for a moment, and then slipped off. The pain returned with a vengeance, but somehow it didn't seem so bad. It probably helped that he had just realized that he was finally, actually free.

**123123123**

Terry had watched in mild confusion as Don pulled violently against the cuffs behind his back. It was clearly causing him severe pain.

She slowly became dismayed, thinking that perhaps the strain had finally gotten to him mentally…that he had had a break from reality. It shocked her, then, when he suddenly brought both hands around to his front—the cuffs still fastened and dangling from his right wrist—and cradled his left arm in his lap. She followed the length of his arm and took in the wholly unnatural appearance of his left hand. Her eyes widened slightly. _Jesus_.

He pulled the gag down out of his mouth and looked right to the table where their guns and keys had previously lain, but they were gone. Terry had seen Danny take them back with him when they had brought Charlie in. He pressed himself back flat against the pillar and glanced cautiously back left, trying to see the main counter area, but jerked back suddenly—he must have realized that the area that way was completely open …he needed to stay right where the furniture of the waiting area and the position of the counter itself would afford him some cover. Terry knew he would look to her next, so she turned to check Danny and the others…they were still in discussion, and tensions seemed to be mounting again. For once, that was a good thing—they would be distracted. She turned back and nodded quickly…_You're clear._ Cautiously, Don crept forward towards Charlie.

**123123123**

As Don slowly slid towards Charlie, he experienced a wash of emotions. On the one hand, he had been fixated on getting to Charlie for so long now that he was utterly relieved to finally be doing it. On the other hand, the closer he got to Charlie and the more he took in his appearance, the more real the situation became to him. Charlie was barely breathing. And he was pale. And still. He was laying flat on his back with his arms down by his sides…just like all those bodies Don had had to look at on the coroner's table. As Don reached him, he lay a trembling hand on Charlie's forearm.

"Charlie?" he whispered hoarsely. But there was no response. He drew his hand back. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. Nothing felt right.

_Think_ Don's mind commanded angrily. _What do I do? _

_Check the injury _came the answer, ingrained by training.

Don looked at Charlie's chest. The wet patches on his sweatshirt hadn't grown much in size—not at all, really. That gave Don hope. Maybe this would be okay after all. Maybe he could do this.

He reached out and pulled the zipper on Charlie's sweatshirt down. He looked back over his shoulder to check that they were still clear…no one was coming. He turned back and pulled the halves apart, revealing Charlie's grey Calsci T-shirt beneath. It was _soaked_ in blood…bright red. Don froze. Suddenly the hazy, delicate world he had been crawling through shattered around him. Panic galvanized him into action, and he quickly began unbuttoning his dress shirt with his good hand.

"Charlie" he tried again, more forcefully this time, as he worked the buttons. It was awkward with one hand, and the handcuffs dangling from his wrist didn't help. He got about half way down and just pulled the rest apart. He shimmied out of the shirt, leaving him in his Kevlar vest and white undershirt, and balled the dress shirt up in his lap. He placed it over the lower of Charlie's two wounds, and though his left screamed in protest, pressed down firmly with both hands.

Charlie came to awareness quickly and his eyes shot wide open. He moved his hands up to Don's and pushed weakly against them as he tried to stop the assault, his face twisted into a grimace.

"Charlie," Don whispered urgently as his eyes filled with water, "Charlie it's okay. It's me. It's just me buddy. You're okay." The tears threatened harder as Charlie continued his weak struggle.

"Stop…please" he rasped, turning his head to the side as if trying to escape the pain.

"It's okay Charlie. It's just me. Everything's okay. You're fine." But Don's voice broke, betraying the lie. He couldn't hold the tears back anymore.

**123123123**

Charlie came to in agony. For some reason, the crux of the pain was now focused in one area—like someone was stabbing him in the stomach. He tried to push the offender away, but he had no strength. He begged them to stop, but they wouldn't. And then from somewhere, a voice began to break through to him "…just me. Everything's okay…" He knew that voice. Don.

Charlie forced his eyes to focus and found his brother's face hovering above him. Slowly his brain came back up to speed, and he felt immediate relief. Don was here. Don was here, and he was applying pressure to stop the bleeding…that was good, that was the right thing.

But something else was wrong. Don was…Don was crying. In all Charlie's life, he had never—_never_, seen Don cry. He was sure that he must have…when he was little, before Charlie was born or old enough to remember. Maybe sometime later over a girl. Surely when their mother had died. But as far as he knew, Don had never cried in front of anyone. And certainly not in front of him. Charlie didn't like it. It scared him. It meant the whole world was falling apart.

"Don…" he rasped. It was really difficult for him to speak; it hurt, and he couldn't get enough air as it was. "Don…don't—" he didn't say the word. "I'm okay," he lied, then added as an afterthought, "…it doesn't hurt."

Don's brow arched at that and his lower lip quivered slightly. "Oh, Charlie—" He bowed his head, and for one terrible moment, Charlie thought he was going to start sobbing. But instead, when Don raised his head a few moments later—it was all gone. His eyes still shone brightly, but his face was set, and when he spoke his voice was steady, firm. "Charlie, everything's gonna be fine, you hear me?" After a brief moment, Charlie nodded carefully. "I'm gonna take care of it, I promise. All you need to do, is breathe. Just keep breathing for me. I'll take care of the rest."

Relief washed through Charlie and he gave another small nod. He felt himself relax. Don was here, and he would fix things.

Don could do anything.

**123123123**

There was a place, deep down inside of Don, where he kept bad feelings. Feelings like being jealous of Charlie. Feelings like resenting his parents for not spending as much time on him. Feelings of violent hatred for the people he pursued. Feelings like being lonely. He knew it probably wasn't the healthiest thing. He was sure that Terry would say it was bad—in fact, he thought maybe Terry knew about the place…when she looked at him in that way that made him uncomfortable, he sometimes thought that maybe she was searching for it. But he was sure no one else knew about it. It may have been bad, and it may have been unhealthy—but it made him strong.

Now he took all the fear, all the distress and anguish he was feeling, and pushed it far down into that place. Charlie needed him to be strong. He needed him to take care of things. When he looked back up and told Charlie everything was going to be okay, he could literally see him relax. That felt good. It felt like things were starting to work right in the world again.

His left hand was now throbbing relentlessly, so he shifted his grip on the shirt slightly, which caused Charlie to wince.

"Sorry," he said quietly.

Charlie shook his head gently to dismiss the apology. He brought his hand up from the floor and gently laid it on Don's. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while.

"Hey," Don offered after a moment, breaking the stillness. His eyes began to dance the way they always did when he teased Charlie. "I thought I told you to stay in the car."

Charlie managed a small smile, then swallowed. "I don't have to do what you say," he croaked.

Don smiled broadly. He was about to say something else when suddenly Charlie's eyes opened wide. Don tensed, afraid that Charlie was having trouble breathing again. But when he heard Terry give a muffled yell, another thought occurred to him. He turned his head just in time to see the butt end of a shotgun come crashing down on him.


	8. Eight

** The Space Between**

**By**

**Tru False**

**Language Note: Cannon is back—vulgarity, blasphemy and poor taste abound. The language warning is in full effect.**

**Chapter 8**

"How the _fuck_ did you do get loose?"

Cannon rounded angrily on Don, his gun raised and his eyes scanning the corners of the room as if searching for some hidden enemy who must have helped Don to escape. Danny and Lonnie appeared closely behind.

"Look at his thumb!" exclaimed Lonnie, pointing excitedly at Don's left hand—it was the most animated anyone had seen the kid all day.

"Get back over there, right now" Danny instructed in a tone of voice that left no room for argument. The kid jumped slightly and hurried back over to the counter area as if he had only just realized that with all three of them in the entryway, the hostages were unguarded.

"You do that to yourself?" Cannon demanded.

But if he expected any answer from Don, he would be disappointed. Don's world was swaying violently, as if he were sitting on the deck of a ship being tossed about by huge waves. It took a particularly deep turn to the left, and he swayed over to that side. He caught himself with his left hand, and a sharp pain shot up the length of his arm…the arm buckled beneath him, and he almost went all the way down to the ground. Through sheer willpower he managed to sit back up, but he found it difficult to control his momentum. As the world pitched violently right, he swayed that way instead—this time catching himself with his good hand, which held. A white noise roared in his ears and his vision blurred and sharpened sporadically as he fought to remain conscious. Were it not for Charlie lying there beside him, he would have gladly fallen over and passed out.

**123123123**

Charlie had seen the guy who shot him advance on Don just a split second before it was too late. Don had turned at the last moment, taking the brunt of the blow on the side of his head. Charlie watched as he began to sway severely, like a prizefighter who had just taken a knockout punch. It made him sick, and he wished desperately that he could do something. But just talking to Don had taken all of his strength, and he could already feel the darkness pulling at him. He reached out for Don in a hopeless attempt to grab and steady him, but his hand only caught air as the world slowly disintegrated into blackness and he was gone.

**123123123**

Danny squatted down in front of Charlie and Don, trying to get Don to focus on him.

He studied Don's hand for a moment. "Hey," he snapped his fingers at Don, whose head was still swaying side to side slightly. "Who is this guy to you?" he asked, indicating Charlie.

Don managed to suppress the swaying, but his eyes remained glassy and unfocused. He squinted at Danny, trying to understand the question.

" 'smy brofer" he slurred, as if his tongue were an inch thick. He shook his head, trying to work himself out of the daze.

Danny nodded his head slowly, then looked up at Cannon. "Jeez Redd—you really screwed him up. I think you cracked his skull," he said uncomfortably as Don rocked slightly left again.

"Nah," Redd replied, oblivious. "He's alright. I didn't hit him that hard." He leaned down close to Don's ear. "Shake it off, boy!" he yelled, then chuckled and turned towards Danny as if expecting him to share in his humor. All he got was a stare.

"Aw, don't look at me like that. You didn't give a shit earlier when it was me that got beat all to Hell."

Still Danny didn't speak.

"He's alright," Redd insisted. "Look," he added as he grabbed Don's shoulder and shook him roughly, "he's a tough guy. Ain't cha?" he asked Don loudly. He looked back at Danny and smiled. "He can take it," he said, letting Don go. Don's head swayed some more and he opened his eyes wide, obviously trying to compensate for the fact that the world was suddenly lurching again.

"Would you just leave him alone for a second and lemme think," Danny replied. "_You sick bastard_,"he added under his breath.

Redd caught it and his eyes hardened in anger. "I don't know what's goin' on with you, but you been actin' weird all day—and I've had my fill of it," he said. Danny didn't take his eyes off Don, and Redd's ire only increased. He grabbed Danny by the shirtfront and hauled him up to his feet.

"Let go," Danny warned, but Redd kept his hold.

"Lemme explain somethin' to you. This guy," he pointed angrily down at Don "is a fucking FBI. I don't give a shit about what happens to him. You know why? Because he doesn't give a shit about what happens to me either—that's why. And don't you start liking him, or thinking you two are gonna be pals over the fact that you've both got hard-ons for your brothers, 'cause believe me—he's not gonna give one flying fuck what happens to you in the end. He gets one chance, he's gonna send you straight to the federal pen—and Special Needs over there is gonna be on the first short bus for juvy hall. You can bet your life on that." He let go of Danny's shirt. "But you ain't gonna bet mine."

"I won't tell you again Redd,"—Danny's eyes were fierce—"Don't talk about him like that."

"Aw, Christ Danny. You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?" Redd shook his head in disgust. "Listen to me…if you really wanna look out for your brother, then you'd best get your mind round to hatin' this guy, and quick. He's not like fucking rent-a-cop over there," he pointed back towards the hostages. "He's a Fed. They're smart and they're fuckin' wily. You turn your back on him for one second, he's liable to pop up out of a trashcan ten minutes later and slit your Goddamn throat. Look what he's done already," he said, pointing to the pillar where Don had been, "He's a Houdini-type motherfucker."

Danny didn't respond but it looked like some of what Redd had said was sinking in.

Satisfied, Redd turned back to Don. "First off, gimme that vest," he said, indicating the Kevlar, "because you ain't gonna be needin' it."

But Don had come around somewhat during Danny and Redd's exchange, and he liked what he was hearing. He fixed his attention on Danny, ignoring Redd. "I'm not dealing with him," he told Danny in an even voice. "I'm only dealing with you." He locked eyes with him.

Redd was irate. "You'll deal with whoever the fuck I say you will," he threatened as he raised his gun to Don's head. But still Don ignored him, keeping his eyes on Danny's.

"Calm down Redd," Danny said after a moment.

"Don't tell me to fuckin' calm down. This is the kinda shit I'm talkin' about…he's screwing with you already. Don't you see it? He's trying to split us up…divide us."

At that, Danny finally turned his gaze to Redd. "That would be tough to do."

Redd shook his head, incredulous. "You've fucking lost it, man. And you're supposed to be the smart one."

Danny turned back to Don. He was quiet for a moment. "Give him the vest," he said eventually.

Don looked at him. It was a test—something Danny knew Don wouldn't want to do. He had to give the guy credit…he wasn't a complete moron. Don slowly unfastened his vest and gingerly worked his way out of it, wincing when he pulled it over his head and left shoulder. Redd was standing above him with his hand extended to take it, but Don just dropped it on the floor at his feet.

Redd bent down to retrieve it, clearly agitated. "Keep pushin' me," he challenged. Don ignored him.

"I'll take care of it Redd," Danny said. "Why don't you go help Lonnie…that Suit looked like he might try something."

Redd looked hard at Danny, clearly surmising him.

"I heard what you said," Danny assured him. "All of it."

"Alright," Redd replied eventually, though he was clearly unconvinced. "Fine. I'll leave you two fairies at it. But I am telling you," he pointed a warning finger at Danny, "you watch this guy." He paused to read Danny's eyes. "I swear to God Danny, if I come back over here and you two are holding hands singin' fuckin' Kumbaya —I'll shoot the both of you." He turned and started away. "You fuckin' pussy," he added under his breath as he pulled his new bulletproof vest over his head.

**123123123**

Danny immediately felt his irritation dissipate, like a mosquito that had been buzzing around his head all day had finally flown off. With Redd out of the way, he squatted back down in a catcher's stance in front of Don, his shotgun resting across his thighs. "I can't have you loose," he said after a moment. His eyes traveled back behind Don to the pillar where he had been secured.

"Listen," Don started, then swallowed, wincing—his head was screaming and his vision still rolled from time to time. "I think we can work this out…you and me," he continued. "But I'm gonna tell you something right now—up front." His face hardened. "I'm not leaving my brother."

"I can't have you loose," Danny repeated firmly.

"Well then you might as well shoot me now, because if you try to put me back over there, I'm gonna fight you to the death. I'm not leaving him."

Danny read the fire in Don's eyes—the guy meant it. Hell, Danny could understand. He thought for a minute. "Okay," he said eventually, "here's what I'm thinking…" He put his hands up towards Don, the way one would to a wild animal that was cornered. Slowly, he reached forward and took the loose cuff dangling from Don's right wrist. He kept his other hand up, a non-verbal plea for Don to hear him out. He pushed the loop of the cuff all the way through so it was open again, then reached down and placed it around Charlie's left wrist, bringing it gently closed.

Danny looked back at Don and saw pure hatred in his eyes. He backed away from Charlie a bit, understanding. He pointed down at their cuffed hands. "This way, you know you're gonna stay with him, and I know you're not gonna go wandering around," he explained.

He watched the anger in Don's eyes flicker and then diminish, but Danny knew it was only because he had pushed it down. His jaw was tensed like he was grinding his teeth together…the guy was livid. Don nodded once; it was his only answer.

"Lemme tell you though," Danny warned, placing his hand on his shotgun for emphasis, "…you pop that other thumb out—you and me are gonna have problems."

There was no response to that, but even as he said it, Danny knew he didn't need to worry. Even if the guy could somehow get his other thumb out one-handed, he wasn't going to try it. Danny understood that too.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something else, but he held it back. There really wasn't anything that would make a difference. Besides, he needed to go check on Lonnie.


	9. Nine

**The Space Between**

**By**

**Tru False**

**Chapter 9**

It had taken every bit of restraint Don had not to grab Danny and tell him to keep his fucking hands off his brother. Other than that though, Don liked the way things were going. He knew he had Danny's sympathy, and soon he would use it against him.

Don could feel Terry looking at him, but he didn't look back. He knew what she was thinking…he was pushing it too fast, rushing things. But he didn't have the luxury of taking his time. He had to get this going now. If that meant it got ugly with Redd…well, he could handle it. He would do whatever it took to save Charlie.

He reached out with his damaged hand—now that his and Charlie's wrists were cuffed together it made it difficult for Don to use his right—and though the pain was intense, he resumed pressure on the shirt. This time, Charlie didn't even stir.

**123123123**

"Cool," Lonnie commented with wide eyes as he felt the bullet marks he himself had made on what was now Redd's vest. "I want one."

"Well I tell you what, genius," Redd put his arm around Lonnie and turned him towards the entrance. He pointed at Terry across the distance. "You can have hers—if you can get it off her."

Lonnie blushed at the floor. Redd laughed.

"Lonnie, come over here," Danny said as he approached them.

Immediately, Lonnie took off towards him.

"Come here," he said again as he put his hand on Lonnie's shoulder and drew him to within arm's length, face-to-face. He looked closely at Lonnie.

"I don't want you talking to Redd anymore, you hear me?" he said quietly.

"Why not?" Lonnie asked, also keeping his voice down.

"Because I said so, that's why."

Lonnie looked down at the floor. "But I think he's funny," he ventured after a moment.

Danny's expression softened somewhat. "Hey," he said, and Lonnie looked up at him. "I used to think he was funny too. But he's not. He's just…mean-spirited. I don't want you to like him, understand?" He shifted his hand to the back of Lonnie's neck and gave him a gentle squeeze. "I don't know what's going to happen here, so just…be sure you listen real good to whatever I tell you."

Lonnie nodded at Danny but it was clear he didn't really get it. Danny wasn't worried though. The kid would do what he said—he always did.

**123123123**

Don was still actively avoiding Terry's eyes, but he couldn't handle looking at the shirt he was holding either because it was slowly turning red. So he took to staring at the ground instead.

A myriad of thoughts and scenarios tumbled through his head and he struggled to focus on one at a time and formulate a clear strategy. So far, all of them had ended badly. It was frustrating…like the one time he really needed to think something through, his mind just wouldn't settle enough for him to do it. It didn't help that his head was throbbing relentlessly and nausea hit him in waves. It would have felt so good to lie down and just close his eyes.

"Don?"

It was barely a whisper, but Don's head snapped up immediately. He found Charlie's eyes, half-open but fixed on him.

"Hey, buddy" Don said gently and smiled. "How you doing?"

Charlie didn't answer that. "What's the plan?" he rasped.

Don gently raised his hand to show Charlie that they were now cuffed together. "Personally, I think they've underestimated you," he said.

The corners of Charlie's mouth turned up slightly. "Most people do," he breathed.

Don smiled. "Yeah." Then he added, "I'm working on something Charlie. I'm gonna get you out of here soon…I promise."

"Good," Charlie whispered, and then grimaced, swallowing God-knows-what down. "…'cause I don't feel good," he finished, struggling to pull in air.

"I know buddy," Don offered.

But the truth was, Don didn't know. He didn't have the slightest idea what it felt like to be shot like that—but he knew how bad it had hurt when he had taken that round in his vest earlier. This had to be a thousand times worse for Charlie, and it made his insides twist just to think about it. He wished he could trade places with him.

"…feel weird," Charlie commented, "like…floating… heavy too." There was a pause as he rasped in a few shallow breaths; "Don, I think…maybe I'm…" he didn't finish the thought. He wouldn't have had a chance to anyway.

"Don't say that," Don's voice cut in firmly as fear gripped him. "Don't even think that way Charlie. We're gonna see this thing through to the end—together…alright?" _Don't you dare give up on me_, he added mentally.

There was no response.

"Charlie? You promise me Charlie. We're gonna do this together." He actually shook him gently.

Charlie nodded weakly, though his eyes had drifted shut again.

"Okay," Don said, sitting back a little. He was clearly worried. In the world of math and science, Charlie he was tenacious—he never gave up on a solvable problem. But beyond it…well, Charlie didn't exactly have a reputation for seeing things through. Don decided he needed to keep Charlie conscious.

"Hey," he tried a few moments later, "you know in Albuquerque, they have that balloon festival every year?" Charlie gave no response. "I went up once," Don continued, undeterred. "Did I ever tell you about that? Huh Charlie?"

Charlie forced his eyes back open, though they only made it halfway. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"Yeah," Don continued, "Well I went up in one. It's pretty nice, you know? Quiet. You can see the Sandias…from up there you can even make out this…this line that runs along the ridge at the top—"

"It's called...the 'Great...Unconformity'," Charlie commented weakly, surprising Don. "…separates Madera group… 320 million years…" he took an obviously painful breath "…old," he forced out in exhaustion, letting his eyes slip shut again.

"Jesus Charlie." Don sounded mildly exacerbated. "Can't I tell you anything?" There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was warm. "Just, humor your big brother a little here, would ya?"

A smile tugged at Charlie's mouth as his eyes cracked open ever so slightly. "Sorry," he rasped.

Don looked at him affectionately. "It's okay. Anyway…"

He talked to Charlie for a long time, about nothing and everything. It was easy to think of things. Sometimes Charlie would drift off, but he would come back around later and listen some more. Occasionally he would smile weakly. One time he laughed a bit, which had caused him to choke again. Don was careful not to be funny after that.

At some point, Don realized with sadness that he had so much to talk about because he hadn't done this in so long. He never really took the time to sit down and just talk to Charlie. As with most brothers, when they were growing up their age difference had been such that the bulk of their conversations centered around Don telling Charlie to leave either him or his stuff alone. When they had gotten older, to the age where most siblings developed an appreciation for each other… Well, Don had moved away and there had been some things; resentment, lots of unspoken feelings and just this tremendous—space that developed between them. It was much more than just the physical distance. _Two different worlds_, Don's own words rang in his ears.

_But not so much here lately… _

Don had recently come to understand that in many ways, he was just now getting to know Charlie again. And that made this situation seem all the more unfair. He looked at the clock as it ticked mercilessly away. It had been about forty-five minutes since Charlie was shot. He had to have help soon, or he wasn't going to make it. That was just reality.

**123123123**

Terry was uncomfortable. Her muscles were beginning to nag at her from being in the same position for so long. The gag was really tight and it dried her mouth out…she was starting to feel like her lips might crack open. But she knew how trivial those complaints were given what was going on around her.

She looked over at Don. He was talking to Charlie and still making it a point to ignore her. She knew why, too. He didn't need her to tell him that he was forcing the situation. Of course, she certainly understood his urgency…Charlie had been bleeding out for almost an hour now. He didn't have long. But still, she prayed that Don would tread lightly. Redd was explosive and unpredictable…it wasn't going to do Charlie any good if Don got himself shot too.

A cell phone rang…one of the hostage's. That caused a commotion in the main area as conflicting instructions were shouted from Danny and Redd as to whether or not the guy should answer it, and what he should or shouldn't say.

A movement caught Terry's eye then, in the periphery of her vision. She looked left… a short, stocky lady with blonde hair had approached the doors. Terry watched as she went to reach for the handle, but then hesitated, peering down at the hand-made sign that read "closed for remodeling" with a quizzical look. Terry looked quickly back to the main counter area—the argument over the phone was peaking as it rang on for the fifth or sixth time. She turned back…the lady was looking back over her shoulder, obviously confused about all the cars in the parking lot and the absence of anything that looked like a builder's van.

_Come on _Terry willed her, _come on…it's suspicious; look in here._ Finally, the lady put her hands up to the glass and pressed her face forward, looking inside. Terry saw her eyes come down and meet hers, and the shock on her face was clear. The lady staggered back slightly. _Hurry up…_Terry silently commanded. The lady put her hand to her chest. _Come on you idiot, run!_ After a moment's hesitation, she did just that.

Terry turned back towards the counter area. Redd and Danny were busy relieving the hostages of all their cell phones and keys, the thought having apparently just occurred to them. Lonnie had his gun trained on the bank manager, who for some reason had come under suspicion lately. It probably didn't help that it was his phone that had just gone off. Terry breathed a sigh of relief—the lady had come and gone, wholly unnoticed.

As she processed what that really meant, joy grabbed her. She turned her eyes to Don, but Charlie was having a lucid moment and his focus was completely on him…he hadn't even seen the lady.

With no one else to share her happiness, she leaned back against the table leg. She couldn't help but smile through her gag. Help was on the way…before long, they would get Charlie to a hospital…he would be okay, and then Don would be okay too. They were all going to be okay. She was so happy, she could have burst.

**123123123**

Redd was pacing. Danny knew that was a bad thing. It meant he had an idea…and Redd's ideas were usually both bad and difficult to dissuade.

Sure enough, Redd stopped a moment later and moved to the side of room where he would be out of everyone's earshot. He beckoned Danny over with a wave.

"That phone call got me thinkin','" he said quietly, "…we don't have much time here before someone's gonna show up."

Danny waited for him to continue. He had a slight sinking feeling in his stomach.

"There's no cops outside. No one even knows we're in here—yet."

Danny still didn't speak. He thought about pointing out that there were two Feds _inside_, but he decided to wait and see where Redd was going.

"So we can just take off outta here."

Danny let out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. That was all he had come up with—Jesus.

"That's not gonna work Redd," Danny explained, "because all these people have seen us. The cops will come after us as soon as they get our descriptions. Hell, some of them know our first names."

"I know that. I'm not a fuckin' idiot."

"Well I don't get what you're saying then."

"We're gonna have to kill 'em."

"Who?" Danny asked, confused.

"All of 'em. We're gonna have to kill all of 'em. Then we can just walk outta here—'cause there'll be no one left to tell."

Danny studied Redd's eyes. The sinking feeling in his stomach came back with a vengeance.


	10. Ten

** The Space Between**

**By**

**Tru False**

**  
**

**Chapter 10**

Danny looked over at the hostages from his position with Redd. Women…men…one elderly lady who made him think of his grandmother… There was just no way. He couldn't go in for this.

"Redd," he started, unsure of how to say it, "we can't…I mean, we just…we can't. I can't," he finished lamely.

"Listen to me Danny," Redd ordered, his eyes firm, "you have to. You've never been to jail before, but I have. I'm talkin' _jail_, just regular county-shit—and it was bad. They catch us here, with these Feds and a dead guy on our hands, and we are screwed. You understand that? We're talkin' Federal Pen now for sure. I'm not goin' in there—that's all there is to it."

Danny didn't speak.

"I can't do this by myself Danny," He continued, keeping his voice low, "If I could—believe me—I would. But there's too many of 'em. Even if I turn 'em all around, as soon as one or two hit the ground, the rest are gonna realize what's goin' on…they're gonna freak out and rush me."

Again Danny didn't respond. The image Redd had conjured in his mind made him sick.

"Think of Lonnie," Redd tried, "even if—and that's a big if—he gets off light on account of his age, what's he gonna do without you around? Huh? For forty or fifty fuckin' _years_. Think about that."

It did cause a pang of guilt to rise up inside him, but still Danny just couldn't see…all those people. There was no way. He tried a different tact.

"Redd, listen…even if we could do it, they'd still catch us. Think about it. There's gotta be security tapes running right now. And—"

Redd cut in over him. "You're right about that. That's good thinkin'…we'll need to take those out first." He paused. "You think of any more stuff like that?"

Danny just blinked and shook his head—not because he couldn't think of more ways that they might be caught—but because he just couldn't believe this was happening.

Redd turned and walked off towards the hostages, apparently to interrogate the manager as to the location of the security tapes.

Danny closed his eyes for a second. _Christ_—this was just unreal. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't have all these people on his conscience. He looked at them again…there were enough that even with both he and Redd executing people, they could still be rushed. That meant that Lonnie would also have to…

Danny came around to a harsh reality then. Redd was crazy and clearly determined. He would try it anyway, even without their help. Danny just knew it. In fact, he might even turn on them if they didn't agree to help. Another nauseous feeling came over him. Danny realized was going to have to take Redd out before any of that could happen—it was the only answer.

He began to work through how he could do it. The first scenario ended with he and Redd facing off with shotguns pointed at each other. That was no good. The next scenario ended with Redd holding Lonnie hostage against him. That was definitely no good.

"He says the tapes are in the back office," Redd called back to him. "Where are his keys?"

"Counter," Danny replied.

_Keys_…that gave Danny an idea. The Feds. He could cut the Feds loose, and they could help him. They could stop this.

Danny hesitated for a moment, but as soon as Redd took the keys off the counter and started down the hallway to the back office, he knew it was his only chance. He rushed towards the counter himself and grabbed both sets of handcuff keys.

"Stay here and watch them," he barked over his shoulder to Lonnie, who was looking quizzically at him. He hurried over to the entry area.

He couldn't believe what he was actually about to do.

**123123123**

Terry had seen Redd and Danny collaborating off to the side. Redd had gotten very serious suddenly, as if he had come to some kind of decision. The whole thing made her nervous.

"Don," she called out through her gag. He was going to have to stop hiding from her now. He did, and she nodded towards the main counter. He turned back toward it as best he could without disturbing Charlie, but from his position it was difficult to see much. Redd had left Danny and was now talking to the manager; Danny was starting off into the distance…Don couldn't see what Terry was getting at. He turned back to her.

"Something's up?" he questioned quietly.

She nodded.

He bit his lower lip in thought, then turned back again trying to see something. A few moments later, he turned back to her and shrugged his shoulders. She shrugged back.

At least he was alert now.

**123123123**

Don tensed as Danny suddenly appeared beside him, coming around to a squat about three feet in front of him. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking past Don back toward the main counter.

"What's going on?" Don asked.

"It's Redd," Danny started, and turned toward Terry to see if she was listening too. She was. "He's got this idea…"

"What?" Don asked.

"…He wants to kill everyone." It was obviously difficult for Danny to even say it. "Says we can just walk out of here then—no witnesses."

Don's heart started beating faster. "Danny, that's crazy. You'll never get away with it. And when they do find you, it's going to be so much worse for you…and your brother."

"I know," Danny replied quietly.

Don held his gaze, not sure what he was thinking.

Danny opened his hand and Don saw both sets of their handcuff keys. His heart leapt.

"That's good Danny. That's smart. It's the best thing you could do. We'll help you—we'll take care of you and your brother."

Danny still hesitated for a moment.

"Danny—it's the right thing."

As he said it, a movement beyond Danny caught Don's eye…something outside. Red and blue flashing lights. And then more. And then more.

Danny turned, following Don's line of sight. "Oh Jesus," he breathed. "Thank God. Thank you God." He started to rise up. "Redd!" he called back. "Redd—it's no good. The cops are here already!"

"Danny!" Don said frantically. "Danny, wait. Uncuff us—we can still help you."

But Danny had already started back towards Redd.

Don stared off into the distance for a moment, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. He had been so close! He should have done something…lunged forward and tackled Danny…taken the keys by force. It would have hurt Charlie, but it would have been worth it. It had just all happened so fast.

He looked down at Charlie, who had fallen unconscious again despite his best efforts to keep him talking, and felt guilt choke him. He had failed. You didn't get chances like that…that had been it, he had had it in the palm of his hand, and he had blown it.

He forced himself to look at Terry, afraid of what he might see in her eyes—but of course, there was only sympathy there. She knew what it would cost him.

Don turned away and dropped his head in despair. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.

**123123123**

"The cops…aw, Hell," Redd said as Danny led him back towards the entryway to see for himself. "I knew it," he continued, "We should have thought of this earlier. Now what are we gonna do? We're screwed."

Danny and Redd both reached the doors at the same time and looked out into the parking lot to find it filled with police cars and men in riot gear erecting barricades. Without even looking back, Danny pointed behind himself at the main counter.

"Stay over there!" he ordered…sure enough, Lonnie turned around mid-step and headed back to his abandoned post.

The phone rang a moment later.

"You should answer it," Don offered, though he sounded tired, resigned.

"When we wanna know what you think, we'll tell you," Redd replied angrily.

"Danny," Don tried again, this time with a little more conviction, "It'll be whoever's in charge out there. You should answer it."

"Maybe he's right, Redd," Danny ventured.

"Aw, Christ…not this shit again. Danny, you can't trust him. Whatever he says, I say we do the opposite," Redd proposed.

"Danny, listen to me," Don cut in, a sense of progress slowly renewing him, "If you don't answer, they're not going to know what's going on in here. Now, they might keep trying for a long time, but eventually, they're going to just come in here with tear gas and guns, and this thing is gonna get ugly for you." _And us_, Don added silently. Charlie couldn't take being gassed on top of everything else, of that he was sure.

"If they come in here, we'll be ready for them," Redd promised, pumping his shotgun for emphasis.

"Says the man in the bulletproof vest," replied Don.

At that, Danny turned back to look at Don.

Don held his eyes, imploring him to see reason. "Talk to them," he said firmly.

Danny looked at Redd. "I think he's right." He took off towards the main counter to find the phone.

**123123123**

Redd walked towards Don and Charlie and squatted down a safe distance away. He locked his eyes on the Fed, but the guy wouldn't look at him…just kept staring at his brother.

Redd hated him. He hated everything about him. He hated what he stood for. He hated how he looked at him, condescending and unafraid. He hated that he had a brother he cared about—a brother who had caused Redd a good amount of pain earlier. He hated that he thought he was better than them, that he was gonna outsmart them and win in the end. He hated him so much he wanted to hurt him, and to keep hurting him until he begged for mercy.

"You wanna be careful, pipin' up all the time. We don't need your advice." Redd started, sounding dangerous.

True to his strategy, Don ignored him completely.

"You think this is gonna work, huh? That you're gonna turn my partner around to thinkin' your way? Well, you're wrong about that. One, 'cause he's smarter than that, and two, 'cause I won't let him even if he tries. So you can forget it—and from now on, you can keep your smart mouth shut, you hear?"

Still Don didn't respond, didn't look up. Redd chewed his bottom lip for a moment, then smiled slyly.

"You know, I just realized somethin'. Lookin' at the two of you cuffed together…it gives a whole new meanin' to the term 'dead weight', don't it?"

That did it. Don looked up at him then with pure hatred in his eyes. Redd captured that hatred and matched it with his own. He loved the surge of adrenaline that rose up inside of him…like a challenge that had been made and accepted. He smiled and went back to look out the front doors, thoroughly pleased with himself.


	11. Eleven

** The Space Between**

**By**

**Tru False**

**Chapter 11**

Danny came back from the counter towards the entryway with the cordless phone up to his ear. He was already in mid-conversation.

"Nine people, plus two FBI agents and one…well, one of their brothers."

Don watched Danny as he approached Redd and the doors, but then stopped short. He took the phone away from his ear and muffled it for a moment. "You should move away from the doors," he said quietly to Redd, who jumped back and to the side. Danny put the phone back up to his ear.

"Yes," Danny continued. "Yes…yes…no. Yes, one person. Badly."

Don watched Danny closely then. He was hoping the agents outside would offer to send paramedics in, or let them bring Charlie out.

"Umm…" he looked over at Don and Charlie, and Don's hopes went up. "We'll have to get back to you on that. Yeah, on that too. No. No, not yet. Umm…seated, in the back—"

At that, Redd shook his head furiously. "Hang up—now," he ordered sharply.

Danny looked at him, but kept the phone to his ear. "Uh…I can't anymore. No," he said into the receiver, then hung up.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" Redd demanded, the anger clear in his eyes.

"They were asking me questions."

"Yeah, no shit they were asking you questions. Why did you tell 'em where the hostages were."

"They wanted our assurances they weren't harmed."

"So you say, 'no, they ain't harmed'—that's it. You don't say nothin' else." His eyes flashed to Don and then he looked hard at Danny. "You do that on purpose?" he asked suspiciously.

"Christ Redd, I wanna get out of here as much as you do. Look—next time they call, you can talk to them. Maybe you'll do better."

That seemed to settle Redd a bit. "Yeah, that's what we're gonna do." The anger and mistrust were still clear in his eyes.

Don spoke up then. "What did they say?"

Redd rounded angrily on him and raised his gun. "What did I tell you about talkin'?"

Don ignored him and looked at Danny.

Danny was smart enough to address Redd with his response, though Don felt as though he was maybe talking to him. "They want to know our demands."

That caught Redd's interest. "What are we gonna tell 'em?" he asked.

"I don't know…the usual stuff never works. A car, a million dollars in unmarked bills, free passage to Tijuana. Honestly, at this point, they're gonna catch us any way we play it."

"Not if we take a hostage with us," Redd offered. "I say we take her," he pointed at Terry, "she's a Fed, and she's a woman…it's perfect."

Don's pulse quickened at that and he looked over at Terry. But her eyes were firm—she was fearless, always. He felt a rush of affection for her.

Danny looked distraught at the notion. "Redd, they're still gonna catch us. They'll just tire-spike the road in front of our car, or waylay us at the border, or a hundred other things…that stuff _never_ works anymore. Maybe it's time to start thinking about…" he trailed off.

"That's right Danny," Don interjected, willing him to stay on that track, "You're thinking everything through really well. You're being smart."

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Redd's eyes were cold. "I am not gonna tell you again."

"Take it easy Redd," Danny said, throwing a look at Don that said _gimmie a break here_ Don decided he would ease off a bit…he didn't need to make things worse for Danny.

Danny switched topics then, not that he thought the next one would be any better received.

"They also want to send in some paramedics, for him," he pointed at Charlie.

"No way," Redd replied immediately. "No one goes in or out, period."

"We could cover them…they wouldn't be able to do anything," Danny countered.

"No. I've seen it on TV when these guys come in as medics and then one of 'em turns out to be some secret ninja voodoo-guy and takes everyone out. No way."

Don couldn't hold himself back anymore. "Danny," he implored, "You're right, you guys are gonna get caught. My brother can't hold out much longer. If he dies—" his voice almost broke around the word "then you're gonna go down for murder on top of everything else."

"That's it—" Redd started, his fury obvious.

"You _moron_," Don cut in towards Redd, utter frustration finally taking hold of him, "why don't you listen to what everyone is telling you? You're not gonna make it—"

Don stopped himself when he saw Redd draw back and shielded his face with his free arm, bracing himself for the beating he knew he was about to take. But instead, Redd had found a much better way to hurt him. He kicked Charlie instead—just once, hard, in the side.

Don dropped his arm, surprised when the pain didn't come, and realized what had happened. He froze momentarily in disbelief. Charlie came to suddenly, his face twisting in pain as everything that had gone blissfully numb inside him was set afire once more. He made an effort to curl away from where the kick had come, trying to escape the pain. His eyes opened wide and he rolled them, trying to get his bearing and comprehend what was happening. "Don?" he called, sounding scared, his free hand reaching out in front of him.

Don snapped into action, leaning forward over Charlie so that his searching hand found Don's shirtfront. Don held the sides of Charlie's shoulders and willed him to find his eyes. "It's okay Charlie," he said worriedly, "It's okay, I'm right here. It won't happen again, I promise… I'm sorry, I'm sorry I wasn't ready, I'm sorry—" His words tumbled out over each other as Charlie struggled to orient himself. He arched his back suddenly and squeezed his eyes shut, unable to draw a breath.

"Breathe Charlie," Don implored him frantically. "Come on Charlie, breathe for me. Charlie, Goddamn it—Breathe for me. You're okay. Breathe." Finally Charlie drew in a shuddering breath, his eyes watering from the effort. It was a process he would repeat over and over as he drew breath from then on, though Don wouldn't know it.

Don's muscles clenched reflexively and he literally began to shake with rage. He turned his head to the side and a low scream of frustration erupted from him. He let go of Charlie's shoulders and rose to a sitting position, his eyes locked on Redd, his face shaking. "You sonofabitch!" he exploded, "You're a dead man! When I get my hands on you, I'm gonna kill you!"

His tirade continued only to be matched by a similar one from Redd, who had leveled his gun on Don's head and was now simultaneously screaming threats back at him. The two yelled so furiously that they became both red-faced and incoherent…completely oblivious to what the other was saying.

"Redd! Back off of him!" came a yell from off to the side…Danny. He had raised his gun and was pointing it—at Redd.

Everything happened very suddenly after that.

Danny had forgotten his own advice and unconsciously worked his way back in line with the front doors.

The snipers outside got a bead on one of the robbers, yelling something and pointing a shotgun at persons unseen. They were cleared to shoot, and they did.

Suddenly the glass of the left half of the front door shattered, and Danny dropped to the floor like a rock. Terry dropped her head to her knees to shield herself from the falling glass, but most of it didn't reach as far back as she was.

Redd looked over at the fallen Danny in utter shock.

Don saw his second opportunity of the day, and this time, he was ready. Though it pulled Charlie so hard his left shoulder came well up off the floor, Don lunged forward with his good hand and grasped the barrel of Redd's shotgun, yanking it firmly away from him. In Redd's state of shock, it slipped easily from his hands. The second Redd realized what was happening, he took off towards the far rear corner of the building for shelter.

Don struggled to turn the shotgun around, using his left hand to help, which screamed in agony. He managed to fire a round, but as he was basically one-handed and that hand had Charlie's arm attached to it, he missed badly, catching the wall a full second after Redd had gone by. He struggled to clear the chamber and was straining to see where Redd had gone when Charlie grabbed his left arm weakly.

"Don?"

"It's okay Charlie," Don said distractedly. "I've got it buddy. We're okay now."

"Don," Charlie persisted, squeezing his arm weakly, "…I'm sorry."

He stopped breathing again—this time, he went limp as well.

**123123123**

Lonnie had been watching as best he could from his vantage at the counter. He couldn't see Redd and the Federal guy at all, but he could hear them yelling at each other…they were real mad about something. He could see Danny just fine though, and that made him happy.

He watched in confusion as Danny suddenly raised his shotgun and yelled at Redd. Was Danny mad at Redd now too?

Then something funny happened. The glass on the door broke and Danny fell down hard. Lonnie stared at him…Danny wasn't getting up. Lonnie's mouth dropped open slightly as he continued to stare in confusion. Was he hurt? A pool of red started to build around Danny's head. Lonnie slowly started towards his brother. The shotgun fell to the floor by his feet, completely forgotten.

**123123123**

Randall, the bank manager, couldn't believe it when the kid just dropped the gun to the floor and took off. Though he was one of the furthest from it, he immediately lunged forward and grabbed it, pulling it close to him. He was a semi-regular hunter, and he checked the gun to see if it was loaded. It was—_bastards_. He sensed the customers and his employees slowly grouping behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief…they had a fighting chance now.

Suddenly he heard a shot off to the right front of the building, where the one agent who had been fighting with the mean guy seemed to be. He tightened his grip on the gun, sure the guy had just executed the agent. That meant he would be coming for them next.

With a courage he didn't know he possessed, he slowly raised up to get a better view of the area. Suddenly, the mean guy came streaking back towards the rear of the building. Randall didn't even think about it…he stood up straight and pulled the trigger.

**123123123**

"…I'm sorry." Charlie's words rang in Don's ears and suddenly his mind processed them.

Don looked down at him. "Charlie…" he said, his voice a warning tone. "Charlie," he called, louder this time. Panic seized him. He dropped the gun down beside him and leaned over Charlie, checking for a pulse. "Charlie!" he yelled angrily. He leaned over him, placed both his hands on Charlie's chest, and started compressions. The pain from his left hand didn't even register with him, as if his body had finally given up on asking him to protect it. He breathed two breaths into Charlie's mouth and resumed the compressions frantically. "Charlie!" Don called again, sounding furious. "Charlie, don't do this! Don't you do this to me, you hear me!" There was a loud shot at the back of the building but Don didn't even try to see what had happened. His whole world was in front of him—and it was falling apart.

**123123123**

Terry had been utterly shocked when the glass shattered near her and Danny had gone down. She stayed huddled for a moment, unsure if there would be more shots fired.

She heard a loud shot then and immediately looked up, searching frantically for Don—sure that Redd had killed him. But instead, she saw Don holding the shotgun and trying to reload it one-handed. Charlie's right arm was stretched out awkwardly while Don worked.

She saw Charlie bring his other arm across his body to grasp the sleeve of Don's free hand. He said something, which Don seemed to ignore, and then he went limp. She saw Don look down at him, then drop the gun and check him. Her heart sank when he started doing CPR.

There was another shot fired at the back of the building. She strained that way but couldn't see what was happening.

Suddenly the front doors broke open and she ducked her head again as more glass went flying. She looked up after a moment and shook her head, hearing the subsequent clinking of small pieces of glass on the tiles around her.

Several agents streamed in, guns trained on them, then moved past. One stopped to secure Lonnie and drug Danny out of the way. More and more flowed in after that. Don didn't look up once…he was too busy screaming at Charlie to come back.

Finally one of the men who entered crouched down beside Terry and pulled the gag out of her mouth.

"Special Agent," she said, her mouth dry, "the keys to these cuffs are on that guy—" she nodded towards Danny, "—he should have two sets on him. That kid there is one of them," she added, indicating Lonnie who was handcuffed and kneeling beside Danny, just staring. "He shouldn't give you any trouble though."

The officer nodded and took off. He came back a few moments later with the keys. The first set didn't fit her cuffs. "Those are his," she said, indicating Don.

"Okay," he replied.

He used the other set to open Terry's cuffs, then headed over to free Don.

Terry took a brief moment to rub her wrists as her arms came back to life. She looked over to Don and saw him sitting back, panting as paramedics worked on Charlie. The officer had bent down and was unlocking his cuffs.

Terry stood up and made to walk over to him, but was surprised when he immediately stood up himself and turned, walking away from both her…and Charlie. She caught a glimpse of his eyes as turned; they were unseeing—blinded by a singleness of purpose. He walked in much the same way, as if you could have put a brick wall in front of him and he would have gone right through it.

Terry hurried after him as she realized his intent. Redd was sitting on the ground, his hands cuffed behind his back and his face twisted in pain—he had taken a round in the vest. The three officers who must have secured him stood a short distance away…they were already to the anti-crisis point, talking about the situation and taking a mild interest in the other officers who were assisting the hostages. As Don swept by them, they turned to look at him.

Terry watched Don draw back his right hand. He never said a word.

He blasted Redd in the face, again and again and again—always with his right…his left hung limply at his side.

After their initial surprise, the officers looked at each other. Redd took a fourth shot and one of them came forward and grabbed Don, pulling him back.

"Alright buddy…I think he's had enough."

But Don easily pulled himself out of the man's grasp and descended on Redd again, landing another punch, then another and another. This time two officers grabbed hold of him and pulled back. When they were unable to stop him, the third grabbed hold as well. Don went back several yards, but still he fought towards Redd and he actually started to make forward progress again, dragging the officers with him.

Terry approached them then. Though it hurt her to do it, she reached between the officers and found Don's left hand—and squeezed hard.

That elicited a scream from him and he turned wild eyes to her.

"Don," she said, unfazed, "Charlie…ambulance."

And like that, without a word, he was gone. She watched him walk towards the front doors with the same purposefulness as before, breaking into a jog when he crossed through them.

"Man," one of the officers commented to Terry, slightly out of breath. "I wouldn't want to piss him off."

"This guy shot his brother," she answered, and then walked off.

The officer nodded and looked at the other two. He crouched down in front of a clearly dazed Redd, whose face was now bleeding again. The officer pushed on Redd's vest where he had taken the round. Redd grimaced painfully.

"Hurts to get shot, doesn't it?" The officer asked. Redd just closed his eyes and turned his head away.

The officer looked back up at the other two and smiled.

**123123123**

Terry watched Lonnie as an officer made to drag him away from Danny's body. There was a point in every criminal's life where a decision was made, a decision as to direction and intent. She hoped Lonnie would learn from what had happened to Danny and make the right decision…the decision she knew Danny would have wanted him to make.

But as the officers pulled him up to his feet and turned him towards the door, she caught his eyes. They had gone cold, hard—filled with hatred and anger. She sighed to herself…the world's next great psychopath had probably just been born.

She turned to the counter and found Don's car keys. It felt surreal when she picked them up, like it had been a lifetime ago that they were all riding in the car together. She looked up at the clock. Two hours…not even. _Unbelievable_. She headed out into the blinding sunshine to find out which hospital they had taken Charlie to.


	12. Twelve

**The Space Between**

**By**

**Tru False**

**Author's Note: Thanks everyone for the great reviews! President, really? g>  
Sorry this has been so long in coming, and sorry it's short…I've been really busy. I will try to post more soon.**

**Chapter 12**

Don had caught up with Charlie's ambulance just as an officer was pushing the back doors closed. When the guy saw Don running towards him, he quickly opened the left door again and let him in, then closed and banged on it twice, signaling that they were good to go. The driver took off immediately and Don half-fell, panting, onto the bench next to Charlie's gurney.

The rage that had flooded his system wasn't leaving as quickly as he would have liked, and he was having trouble thinking straight. He was seeing red, his head was buzzing, and he felt angry at everything. He tried to focus, but he just couldn't turn it off. He was mad at the driver for not going faster, but at the same time he wanted to choke the guy for every bump that jostled Charlie around. He was angry with the paramedics for not doing more, but at the same time he wanted to grab them and shove them away from his brother, to stop them from forcing that plastic tube down his throat. And most unfairly, Don realized, he was angry at Charlie. Angry at him for giving up, for leaving him behind to deal with…whatever it was going to be like without Charlie around. It was unimaginable, really. How was Don supposed to go on living, knowing he had let this happen? And their dad—it was going to kill their dad…

One of the paramedics yelled "Clear" and Don realized they had hooked Charlie up to a defibrillator. He watched him arch up sickeningly, like a rag doll being picked up by a little kid. He dropped back to the gurney with a crash. The medics looked down at some tiny monitor in the bus and repeated the process again. And then again…and again. Nothing happened. Don literally felt each crash of Charlie falling back to the gurney as if it were happening to him as well. His heart pounded in his chest as the reality of what was happening began to sink in. He put his head down in his hand…he just couldn't take it anymore.

"Charging 300," the paramedic said, then added under his breath, "Come on guy, you made it this far…"

Don raised his head at that and looked at Charlie—really looked at him. A moment later, and from out of nowhere, he heard their dad's voice inside his head. _The thing you have to understand is, Charlie can never say no to you…all you have to do is ask him something, and he's there for you._ Don's own response echoed inside his head, _Yeah, and I'm there for him._

Tremendous guilt came crashing down on him …guilt over being angry at Charlie who had fought so hard, and guilt that came with the realization that it was in fact he who was giving up. It entwined itself easily with the responsibility he felt for letting this whole situation develop in the first place, and the sensation quickly became overwhelming—choking. Don forced the feelings down and focused on his brother instead. _Come on Charlie_, he urged inside his head, _Come on…you can do this buddy. _He fixed an intense gaze on him. _Come on …one more time, for me. Come on buddy…please don't quit on me…_.

"Clear," the first paramedic called again, and his partner stepped back. This time the shock pulled Charlie even further up off of the gurney, but when he dropped back down, there was another sound that accompanied the crash…a tiny, regular beep. It was the most beautiful sound Don had ever heard. The paramedics started rattling off more stats to each other, none of which meant anything to Don, but the little bit of hope in their voices was clear to him.

"That's it buddy," Don said quietly to Charlie, placing his hand on Charlie's forearm and giving a gentle squeeze. "That's good…you're doing it buddy. Just hang in there for me…just a little bit more. We're almost there…I promise." He kept talking quietly to Charlie, kept the contact with him, kept praying that he could hang on just a little bit longer.

It seemed like hours but in reality it was probably only a few minutes later when the ambulance finally stopped and the back doors were pulled open. "What have we got?" a guy in scrubs and a white coat asked. He and the nurse with him took the back end of Charlie's gurney and guided it down and out of the ambulance as the two medics slid out along side, rattling off a bunch of numbers that meant nothing to Don except that his brother was barely hanging on. He ran alongside Charlie's gurney as they wheeled him into the ER, all the time keeping hold of his arm, all the time keeping up his mantra of pleas and promises to Charlie.

Eventually, a second nurse appeared and ran alongside them. A moment later, she put a hand out to Don's chest to stop him going any further. In a day that had been filled with difficult things, he dug deep once again and forced himself to let go of Charlie. As he watched them disappear behind the swinging ER doors, he felt totally cut off, as if he had no purpose left. He tried to think of what he should do next. And he realized then that there wasn't anything else to do. Charlie had made it to the hospital—he had done it. There was nothing else.

He stared at the doors for a moment as this information worked its way around his brain. And then suddenly, the adrenaline flooded out of his system. He actually felt it, like a balloon deflating inside of him. The first thing he felt was immense fatigue, but then almost immediately, his ribs started screaming at him. His head pounded mercilessly. His vision swam. And his hand… It was pure agony, waves of pain that shot up and down the entire length of his arm. He cradled it against his chest.

_Sit,_ he thought, _I need to sit. _He kept his eyes on the ground in an attempt to steady himself and slowly made his way to an empty row of chairs. People's voices and hospital noises flooded his ears…everything sounded exceptionally loud now and suddenly he couldn't make sense of any of it. He eased himself down into one of the chairs and closed his eyes. He was sure he was going to throw up.

He rested his forehead in the palm of his good hand, laying his damaged one gently in his lap. He tried to take deep breaths, but that only increased the pain in his side. He settled for frequent, short breaths and opened his eyes again, fixing them on the tiled floor beneath him in an effort to stave off the nausea that threatened.

Eventually, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Someone was talking to him…someone familiar. He focused on the voice, grateful. _Terry_.

He tried to listen to what she was saying…something about his dad and a cell phone. He wanted to raise his head and talk to her, but he couldn't do it—he was barely hanging on as it was. _Help,_ he thought desperately, _I need help_. But those were three words that Don never could bring himself to say.

**123123123**

Terry looked down at Don in concern. He hadn't responded to her question and he hadn't looked up at her. She crouched down in front of him and still he didn't raise his head.

"Don?" she questioned softly, placing a hand on his knee. She got no response.

She bit her bottom lip in worry, then reached out and gently took his left hand in hers, bringing it slowly forward to examine it. If it hurt, he gave no indication. She gently turned it over and appraised it, feeling a stab of guilt for squeezing as hard as she had earlier…it was swollen to at least twice its normal size, grossly misshapen and turning a livid color. And it—like the rest of him—was covered in blood…Charlie's blood. She let go and he slowly drew it back. Otherwise, he made no movement.

Frustrated, she took his face in her hands and gently forced his head up to meet her gaze. He blinked rapidly at her but made no other response. She tried to read his eyes but found she couldn't—he was a blank slate. Her concern for him grew; no one was this strong... She let go and he put his head back down in his hand.

She took a deep breath and stood up. She couldn't resist placing a hand on top of his head. "I'm gonna get you some help," she said quietly, and she was gone.

**123123123**

At some point while Terry was gone, Don had started shivering intermittently. By the time she returned, he was shivering more than he was still. He felt her disappear again, but then a moment later something came down around his shoulders…something blissfully warm—a blanket.

Terry resumed her position in front of him. "I've found you a doctor…she's going to come look at you in just a minute," she offered. Don made no response, but then she hadn't really expected him to.

"I called your dad," she added quietly. "Found his cell number in your phone…turns out he's up in Oxnard? That's why I couldn't get him at the house." She watched Don for any reaction. "He's worried, obviously. Says he'll be here as soon as he can…probably about an hour." Don gave a small nod at that. She felt for him—she knew how hard it was going to be for him to have to see his dad's distress on top of everything else. She knew he would probably feel responsible for Charlie, that he was probably already thinking he had let his whole family down. She watched him, hunched over and shivering gently in front of her, and wanted nothing more than to pull him into her arms and hold him. But she knew how Don was. She settled for bringing the blanket up tighter around his shoulders and giving his knee another gentle squeeze. She took the seat next to him and waited.

The doctor did indeed show up a few minutes later. An attractive young lady with blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, she squatted in front of Don's chair much as Terry had earlier.

"This is your partner?" she asked Terry, though it was more of a statement than a question.

Terry nodded.

"How are you feeling, Agent…"

"Eppes," Terry supplied, "He hasn't really said anything since I got here."

The doctor nodded. She took in Don's appearance and began to reach for his damaged hand.

"Where are you bleeding from?" she asked.

Don gave no response. "It's not his blood," Terry filled in. Again, the doctor nodded.

She gently turned Don's hand over so it was palm up. "For a dislocation, this is severe," she commented. "You'll need surgery to repair it…but then, I imagine you already knew that," she said as she skimmed the old scar that ran along the base of his thumb. Though her touch was feather light, he flinched violently. "Sorry," she said quietly, releasing his hand.

She paused for a moment. "Why don't we move into exam room One," she offered, indicating a room about fifteen feet down the hall. When Don made no response, she looked at Terry who nodded and rose, putting her hand on Don's arm to gently urge him up. He slowly rose and started down the hall with her. Terry chanced a glance over at him as they walked. She had never seen anyone look so utterly beaten down. She honestly couldn't believe he was still on his feet. But even as she thought it, she knew there was one reason he was still going, and she knew what it was: Charlie.


	13. Thirteen

The Space Between 

**By**

**Tru False**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and sorry for the long wait. I've had a job change and it's just murder. I promise I will finish this story!**

Chapter 13 

Charlie came to awareness by measures. First there was a dull buzz around him, and then the blackness lifted ever so slightly. Slowly he tried to open his eyes. Sounds came to him in waves, building and then fading, like someone was trying to tune in a radio. Eventually the sounds became more constant…there was banging and clattering, and shouted instructions. But with semi-consciousness also came intense pain, and his half-opened eyes immediately filled with water, forcing any discernible shapes into hopeless blurs of color that moved above him. None of it made any sense to him. He moved his left hand, searching for the weight of Don's cuffed to it—but there was nothing. Don was gone. These were strangers around him. For the first time since the ordeal had begun, Charlie felt truly afraid. He was alone. He was lost.

"He's coming around," a female voice said urgently.

There was more talking then…a man asking him questions which he couldn't even process let alone respond to. A moment later, there was a sharp pain in his right thigh. Mercifully, darkness pulled at him again, and as it came, it took the pain with it.

123123123

Terry watched from across the room as Dr. Kenner did her best to give Don, who was sitting on the exam table, a thorough inspection. She was getting no help from the agent of course…he remained non-responsive and kept his gaze fixed on the wall. Terry worried over that for a time, but then she realized what he was doing; if you could have bored a hole through about five walls, he would have been staring straight into the Emergency room.

"Agent," Dr. Kenner tried again sounding mildly exacerbated, "I need you to follow this light with your eyes."

When he still made no response, Terry called his name sharply. That snapped him out of his trance and he turned his gaze to her. "She's talking to you," Terry explained gently, indicating the doctor.

Don looked at Dr. Kenner and this time he followed her directions obediently, albeit distractedly.

"You're clearly concussed," she informed him afterwards. "We'll need to monitor you for the next 24 hours." She scribbled something on his chart and put the pen back into the pocket of her white coat. "You've got two broken ribs," she continued, "but there's not much we can do for them other than have you rest. Obviously the biggest concern is your hand," she said nodding down at it in his lap. "We'll take X-rays and have a surgeon come down to do a consult, but as I told you already, I'm sure it will require surgery."

"I can't have surgery right now," Don replied, surprising both women—it was the first time he had spoken since Terry had arrived.

"Agent Eppes," the doctor began, "Best case scenario, you have a dislocation of the metacarpophalangeal joint. It is possible—likely, in fact—that you have associated fractures as well. If you want to retain feeling and full mobility in your hand, which given your line of work I would imagine you do, then you are going to have to have surgery to correct this."

"I understand that," Don stated evenly to her, "but I can't have it right now."

"Well that may not be up to you," Dr. Kenner replied.

"It is if I decide to walk out of here," Don returned with more strength than he has shown in a while.

Terry decided to step in then. She approached Dr. Kenner and asked her to speak with her outside. The doctor looked perturbed but went out into the hallway with Terry.

"Why don't you call for that consult?" Terry suggested, doing her best not to sound condescending. "I'll get him settled down."

"If he refuses treatment, he's going to have a permanent disability to that hand," she repeated, obviously worked up.

"I understand that. And Agent Eppes does too—really. He's under a tremendous amount of stress right now."

"We all are," Dr. Kenner replied bluntly.

"I know. And thank you for everything you've done," Terry added in her warmest voice. She saw the irritation beginning to dissipate in the woman's eyes. Mission accomplished.

"I'll have Dr. Gregg come down and examine him as soon as possible," she conceded. "But let me tell you," she warned, "that kind of attitude isn't going to fly with the surgeon."

"I understand," Terry assured her. "Thank you."

Dr. Kenner nodded and headed officiously down the hall. Terry decided to take the opportunity to check in with the front desk about Charlie again. There was still no news, and yes, they knew where to find them when there was. She returned to the exam room. Don looked up at her expectantly when she entered.

"Well, I think you've made a new friend there."

He didn't respond to that.

"Hey," she said smiling gently at him, "maybe we'll have more luck with the surgeon." Her face became semi-serious. "Just remember Don, go easy… these people don't know what's been going on with Charlie."

At that he started to open his mouth but she cut him off as she already knew what he was going to ask. "I just checked with them, and there's no news yet. They know where to find you."

Don nodded and held her gaze for a moment. "Thanks Terry."

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know that. But thank you anyway." He looked down at the floor and added quietly, "You're always there for me."

She was about to say something more when the door opened again and Dr. Gregg entered.

123123123

Dr. Gregg was older than Dr. Kenner, probably in his late forties with hair that was just starting to silver in places. Don was looking extremely tired again and sensing this, Terry stepped in early to advocate on his behalf for a delayed operation. Given the situation, Dr. Gregg was at least open to the idea but said they would have to consult the X-rays to see the feasibility of it.

When the X-rays were finally taken, they revealed that there were no associated fractures. Dr. Gregg agreed to reduce the dislocation and put Don in a cast for two days, after which time he would have the surgery. He numbed Don's arm with a local anesthetic and eventually managed to push the joint back into place. It seemed to go fairly smoothly, although it was impossible to get any kind of a read from Don…with the threat of being rendered unconscious gone, Don had turned back in on himself. He was practicing non-responsiveness again, and staring at the wall.

Dr. Gregg handed Terry several prescriptions for Don and told her an intern would be in soon to put a cast on him. She thanked him and he left, assuring her that he would check to see if he could find out anything more about the agent's brother.

Terry looked over at Don and wanted to ask him if he was feeling better now that he was out of pain, but she knew it wasn't worth it. She wouldn't have gotten any response.

123123123

Alan was driving badly, and he knew it. His friends had been adamant about letting them drive him, but he had refused them all. He didn't need other people around him; this was a time for family. By hindsight though, a Taxi might not have been a bad idea.

He ran yet another red light as the phone conversation with Terry replayed in his head. He still couldn't believe it. He had always feared getting that call from her…had known almost immediately when he had answered and it had been her that something was terribly wrong. He was prepared for a time when something might happen to Don…he hated it, yet even though the thought still kept him up nights, he had come to accept it on some level. But Charlie? It was such a total shock. He had been caught completely off guard.

He tore around a corner and slammed on the brakes just short of clipping a pedestrian on a crosswalk. _Focus_, he thought. He had to focus—it wasn't going to do Charlie any good for him to hurt someone else or get into an accident himself. He realized how quickly he was breathing when he tried to consciously slow it down. _It's okay,_ he told himself, trying to relax. After all, Don was there with Charlie—he would look out for him. But the closer Alan got to the hospital, the harder his heart hammered in his chest. By the time he had parked his car and was rushing into the hospital, he felt like he was going to explode.

123123123

The hospital doors slid open and Alan struggled to get his bearings as quickly as possible. He scanned the people in the chairs…no Don, no Terry. His eyes fell onto the admitting station and he hurried over to it.

"I need to find out about my son," he said slightly out of breath. He hated the tone of panic that he heard in his own voice.

"Okay," a lady responded and looked up from what she was working on. She must have seen the distress on Alan's face because her eyes softened immediately. "What's his name?"

"Eppes. Charles Eppes."

"Eppes…let's see…" she scanned a list, "Okay…exam room one. If you want to take a seat—"

"—Exam room one," Alan repeated quickly. "Where's that?" he asked, looking around. He wasn't about to sit down and wait. He kept hoping to see Don. One look at his eldest, and he would know—better than what any nurse could tell him.

"Sir, The doctor is still in there. If you'll just take a seat, we'll…"

But Alan had already located his target and was weaving his way through the aisles of chairs towards the hallway and the exam rooms. An orderly appeared beside him and put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Sir, you can't go in while he's being treated. If you'll just wait a moment, we'll get a status report for you, and—"

Alan pulled free of the younger man's grasp and continued stubbornly forward, entering the exam room amid a torrent of objections from the orderly.

He froze in surprise when he saw Don sitting on the table instead of Charlie.

"Donny?" he asked, obviously shaken.

Don didn't say anything, but he looked up and that was enough. Alan held his son's gaze and read everything there. _Oh_, _God_. It was worse than he had thought

123123123

"I'm sorry," the orderly apologized to the intern, clearly concerned about the break in protocol and what the repercussions might be.

"It's okay Edmund," the intern replied kindly, "we're almost done here. He can stay."

Edmund looked relieved and left quickly, sparing one disdainful glance for Alan. The intern nodded in greeting to Alan and went back to work on Don's cast. Alan stood rooted for a second or two more, but then came back to himself.

"Donny?" he said again. He approached them slowly, like if he moved too suddenly some other terrible surprise might jump out at him. "They didn't tell me you were hurt too."

"I'm okay Dad," Don assured him. He sounded tired and looked worse.

"Your arm's broken?" Alan asked with a mixture of concern and despair.

"No, it's my thumb again. I'm okay Dad, really." He paused for a moment. "But Charlie—" Don's voice broke slightly, "he's…"

Don had planned this moment in his mind, and it had always played out with him calmly informing their dad of the situation and reassuring him that everything would be okay. But now, with his dad standing there in front of him, clearly shocked, clearly dismayed, looking sick even…everything seemed to break apart, and his words tumbled out in disarray as guilt crushed him again. "I'm sorry Dad. I tried. I tried to watch out for him," he promised, shaking his head, "I really did. I tried to help him. There was…I couldn't, I don't—"

"Donny, Donny…shh," Alan interrupted him and closed the small space between them. If the intern hadn't still been working on the cast, he would have pulled him into his arms. Instead, he put his hand on the back of his neck and looked deeply into his son's eyes. "Listen to me." He held his gaze until he was sure Don's mind had slowed down and he was with him. "This is **not**your fault. Do you understand?" Don gave no indication and Alan squeezed his neck gently. He knew Don better than anyone else, and he knew what he was doing to himself. "Donny, there was nothing you could have done to stop this, or to change it in any way. It happened—and that's all."

Don stared at his father, desperately wanting to believe him. As he read his eyes, he found nothing but truth there and he nodded slowly, feeling relieved and grateful. Satisfied, Alan let go of him gently and stood up straight again. He looked Don all over then, inventorying his son.

"Donny—are you sure you're not hurt worse?" he asked with concern. "What's all this…" his voice trailed off as he realized what the reddish brown stains that covered Don's shirt and pants were. His eyes widened slightly.

"Oh God, Donny," he said, his voice a mixture of sympathy and dismay.

Don realized with horror what was happening. "Dad—"

Alan took a step back from him and drew a slightly trembling hand up to rub his face. "I'm going to check with the nurses," he explained, backing slowly away, "to see if they can tell us anything. I'll be right back," he promised. He turned then and made his way out quickly.

Terry looked at Don knowingly. She immediately started out after Alan.

Don dropped his gaze back down to the tiled floor, disgusted with himself for not thinking more clearly, for not being more careful, for making a terrible situation even worse for their dad.

"It's okay man," the intern offered quietly, "We'll get you cleaned up before he comes back."

Don shook his head sadly. What little energy had come back to him was now gone. He drug his head back up and stared at the wall.


	14. Fourteen

The Space Between 

**By**

**Tru False**

Chapter 14 

Before the door was even fully closed behind her, Terry already had her cell phone out and was calling David. She kicked herself for not thinking the situation through beforehand…other people were in shock, but she had no excuse. She was supposed to be here to help—not to stand there like an idiot while bad situations unfolded before her.

"David," she said into the phone when he answered on the second ring, "I'm sorry to bug you—I know you're off already, but there's been an incident…no, he's fine but it's Charlie…yeah, I know—hey, listen, I need you to do me a favor and grab some clothes and bring them down here. Yeah, for Don—his are…no good," she finished lamely. "Right…yeah, thanks David—and the sooner the better on those clothes, okay? Great—thanks," she made to flip her phone shut but the sound of David's voice stopped her. "What? Oh, sorry. Cedars. Okay." She closed her phone and mentally shook herself again…she needed to get it together.

Terry turned her attention then to finding Alan, fully expecting to see him hunched over a trashcan somewhere. She was surprised to instead find him at the nurse's station, apparently checking up on Charlie as he has said he would.

"Hey," she said softly as she came to stand next to him.

He turned to look at her, "Oh, Terry—hi," he said as he leaned in and gave her a quick hug. "I'm sorry, I didn't even notice you were here. My mind's…" he waved his hand.

"It's fine Mr. Eppes," she replied, embarrassed that he would even feel the need to apologize to her. "We were worried about _you_. Are you okay?"

He shook his head. "They don't know anything—or at least they won't say," he replied, clearly frustrated. Terry looked to where two nurses were chatting animatedly at the back of the station, as if the world hadn't just been knocked off its axis three hours ago.

"I'd better get back to Don," he announced and made to start back that way.

"Mr. Eppes," Terry interrupted him, "wait just a second."

He paused.

"I just called David Sinclair, and he's bringing some clothes for Don."

"Okay," Alan replied, seeming unsure of her point.

"I think it might be better if you waited until he got here before you go back in," she explained.

He shook his head at her briefly, indicating that he didn't understand.

"I think that it was hard for Don to see you so…distressed," she continued, "I think it would be better if he got cleaned up before you saw him again."

She watched Alan's eyes move back and forth as he replayed the scene in his head.

"Oh," Alan replied when he finally understood what she was getting at, "That's why you came out here? Terry, it's not the blood," he began, but then nodded his head to the side in admission, "well, it _is_ the blood, of course, but not really the way you think."

She waited him out. "It just…" he searched for the words, "made me realize what they'd been though. Both of them. As a parent, you never want your child to go through that kind of trauma. I just needed a minute to process it."

"Well, I think Don took it a little more personally than that," Terry offered gently.

"Yes, I suppose he would," Alan responded quietly. He was quiet for a moment. "It's good that you can do that," he said eventually.

"What?" she asked.

"Read Don."

"It's my job to read people," she replied, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"That may be, but it's difficult to read Don."

"I know," she responded quietly, taking a sudden interest in the floor.

Alan looked towards the exam room and then up at the clock on the wall. "How long do you think it will be before David gets here?"

"Ten minutes."

He nodded at her. "You'll go back and wait with him?"

"Of course," she replied and started to leave.

"Terry," Alan called after her. She turned back to him. "Thank you," he said seriously.

The way he said it reminded her of Don, as if these were not words to be thrown around often or lightly. She smiled and gave him a quick nod before starting off again. "Oh, and Terry?" She turned back once more. "I think you've known our family long enough now that you can call me Alan."

She smiled at him. "Okay Mr. Eppes."

If the situation hadn't been so grave, he would have laughed. He watched her go, realizing yet again how important she must be to Don, and felt thankful that his son had someone like her in his life—even if it was only in a professional capacity.

It was more difficult than Alan had anticipated to wait outside, and he was thoroughly relieved when David showed up just six and a half minutes later. He quickly thanked him for coming and directed him to Don's exam room. Then he reluctantly sat back down again, realizing he would still need to wait for someone to emerge and give him the all clear. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself. His chest felt tight from all the worry wrapped around it. He needed answers, and he needed to see his boys…both of them…and soon.

**123123123**

David knocked and waited a moment before entering. He opened the door to find Don sitting on the table with his hand and half his arm in a cast, and Terry—of course— standing beside him.

"Hey, man" David said quietly as he let the door fall shut behind him. Don looked up at him, and David almost froze in surprise. He had never seen Don look like that, wouldn't have even thought that he _could_ look like that. He looked as if he'd been through a war. It was a completely different person from the man who had lead the eight o'clock meeting that morning…this guy had been to Hell and back.

"Thanks for bringing those," Terry said, forcing David to snap back to reality.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Here you go." He walked over and handed them to Don. "No problem."

He paused for a moment before Don, as if he wanted to say something but wasn't sure what. "You alright man?" he asked finally.

Don nodded briefly at him but didn't say anything, and he still had that terrible shell-shocked look about him.

"We'll let you change," Terry offered, indicating to David that they should leave the room.

"Yeah," David agreed, forcing his eyes away from Don. He knew he was staring like an idiot, but he just couldn't get over the way he looked. Terry grabbed his arm, gently urging him along.

"Hey, Don," he added then, pausing against Terry's grip momentarily, "I'm sorry". He didn't even know what had happened, but clearly it was just about the worst thing imaginable. He wondered if maybe Charlie had died.

Don nodded once in acknowledgement and turned away from them to start changing. Terry paused momentarily as David stepped out through the doorway. "You need any help?"

Don gave no response, which she took as a no and stepped out to join David.

"What happened?" David asked as soon as the door closed.

Terry shook her head at him. "It was bad."

"Charlie?" he asked.

"He took two rounds…one in the chest. I know he had a punctured lung; I'm not sure what else." She was quiet for a moment. "In the end, he had to do CPR," she added, staring off into the distance.

"So all that," he waved his hand up and down over his clothes, "on Don…that was…"

"Charlie's, yeah," she said quietly.

"What the Hell happened?" David asked, "You were just going to interview Randall."

She looked at him then, and suddenly her eyes were shining brightly. "I know," she said in a small voice.


	15. Fifteen

The Space Between 

**By**

**Tru False**

Chapter 15 

David had given Terry a quick hug, and with her assurance that she would call as soon as they knew anything, had left. It was obvious to Terry that it had been difficult for him to be there. It probably hadn't helped that she had been on the verge of tears herself. Talking to David had brought all the images from the afternoon back, and she had to literally force them from her mind so she could stay on track. She rubbed her hands over her eyes quickly, taking a deep breath to collect herself.

She had half expected Alan to be waiting right outside the door, so when he didn't appear, she began to look around for him. She was just about to head to the nurse's station when the exam room door opened and Don emerged.

"Where's my dad?" he asked abruptly.

"I don't know, I was just going to look for him."

Don was keeping talking down to a minimum, and Terry wasn't sure if that was because it hurt him or if he just didn't feel like doing it. Either way, she didn't press him. She started off towards the nurse's station assuming he would follow, and he did. Before they reached their destination, however, they were intercepted by Dr. Gregg and another doctor in scrubs.

"Agent Eppes, this is Dr. Ashlan. She's been seeing to your brother Charles. I'll let her update you on his condition. And I'll see you back here in two days." He paused for a moment. "I really hope the best for you all," he added as he left. The way he said it made Don's stomach drop.

"Agent Eppes," Dr. Ashlan began, "I've just spoken with your father and he's gone up to the surgical waiting room on the third floor." Dr. Ashlan was in her mid forties, petite with short brown hair. She seemed direct. "I believe in being honest with families, Agent Eppes, and I hope you can appreciate that."

"I can," he replied.

"Your brother is critically injured as I gather you are well aware. We had to work very hard to stabilize him for surgery…" She went on to list everything that was wrong with Charlie, and as the list progressed from pneumothorax to nicked arteries to lacerated spleen to perforated lower intestine, the furrow in Don's forehead deepened accordingly. The kicker though, was the collapsed lungs. It had been obvious that Charlie had a collapsed lung from the gunshot wound, but apparently he had arrived at the hospital with both lungs collapsed, the second having been caused by some kind of blunt trauma to the right side of the chest cavity. Terry remembered Redd kicking Charlie just before the place went up in a mass of gunfire. She looked over at Don. It was obvious he had put two and two together as well—he looked like he was going to throw up.

The sum total of Dr. Ashlan's bedside manner lay in reminding them that the hospital had some of the finest surgeons in the nation, and that if anyone could repair the damage Charlie had sustained, it would be them. With that, she was finished, and waited as the agents stared at her, taking it all in. Terry came to herself first and thanked the doctor for everything she had done.

"You're quite welcome," was her response. She waited a moment more, and seeing there were no questions forthcoming, turned and left, giving Don an almost mechanical pat on the arm as she left.

Terry looked over at him, unsure of what she would find in his eyes. He continued to stare straight ahead for a while, almost as if in a trance, then blinked and walked towards the elevators. She was pretty sure she knew what he was mulling over. For her part, Terry was just hoping that Dr. Ashland hadn't delivered the news to Alan the same way she had just given it to them.

**123123123**

Two collapsed lungs. Two. Not one, but two—the second being wholly and totally preventable if he would have done his job right. Don was sick with himself. The image kept replaying in his mind…Redd drawing back, Don covering up and Charlie taking the kick in the side. He could have prevented that. He should have seen it coming. Even if the rest of it was up for debate, that one at least—that one he knew was his.

He saw Terry lean forward and punch number 3 as the doors closed. He hadn't even noticed her getting on the elevator with him. That choking, guilty sensation was back with a vengeance, and it was blocking out everything except the voice in his head that assured him everything was going to Hell, and this time, it really was his fault. It was almost satisfying to finally have something specific to berate himself about.

"Don?"

He looked up to see Terry staring back at him holding open doors that were trying to close on themselves.

"Sorry," he muttered and stepped off the elevator.

There were actually several waiting rooms on the third floor, and it took them a few tries but finally they found the right one. Alan, who was pacing across the middle of the otherwise empty room, came over to them immediately.

"Donny, thank God! They told me they would send you up, but then you didn't come and it was longer and longer and I wanted to come check on you but I didn't want to leave here either—" he cut himself off by pulling Don into a firm embrace.

"Dad, I'm alright," Don assured him as he pulled back from him. "It's Charlie we should be worried about," he added as he sat down in one of the chairs. Alan looked at Terry who gave him a gentle shrug of her shoulders. He sat down in the chair next to Don, and after a moment Terry followed suit.

"Did you talk to the doctors?" Alan asked eventually, trying to fathom Don's mood.

"Yeah," he replied.

"It sounds pretty bad," Alan commented.

"Yeah," Don answered again, sounding tired and rubbing his eyes.

"But you know Donny," Alan continued, "Charlie's going to be alright."

Don looked at him.

"We can't give up on him," he said.

Don nodded briefly and looked down at the ground. He understood what his father was doing and he knew he was right to stay positive, but the fact was, Don knew Charlie wasn't going to be alright. He knew it because unlike their dad, he had been there…he had watched Charlie grow weaker and paler as the minutes passed. He had felt his clammy hands, had listened to him struggling to pull in a simple breath, had watched him choke on his own blood and die in front of him, only to be shocked back into reality by God knew how many volts of electricity. Don had been there for all of it—not Terry, and certainly not his father. So while he understood what his dad was saying, he simply knew it wasn't true. All the positive thinking in the world hadn't saved their mom, and it wasn't going to save Charlie either. In the face of Alan's futile hopes, the weight of that knowledge felt all the more oppressive—for Don knew that all too soon, a grim-faced doctor was going to come walking through those doors to tell them that Charlie was gone, forever—and when that happened, all of Alan's false hope was going to come crashing down around him. And that was what had Don worried the most, because for the first time in his life, he really didn't know if he could do it. He didn't know if he would have the strength to drag himself up off the ground, let alone help someone else pick up the pieces.

Alan let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand over his face. "All this waiting is hard," he said to no one in particular. He looked over at his son. "You know Donny, I never in a million years would've thought that I would be _glad_ that your mother wasn't around for something."

Don looked back at him and nodded sadly, then turned his attention back to the ground. As painful as the waiting was, Don knew it was better than what was coming. He would have gladly remained in this purgatory forever.


	16. Sixteen

The Space Between 

**By**

**Tru False**

Chapter 16 

It was almost 9:30 in the evening, and Charlie had been in surgery for well over two hours. Terry was beginning to feel very tired from the events of the day, yet she remained so full of anxiety that she couldn't possibly have settled, even if she had wanted to. She looked at Alan and Don, knowing it must be a thousand times worse for them.

They hadn't said much since they'd settled into the chairs, but right now Terry was happy with that. It was becoming increasingly difficult to be around Don, who clearly wanted to tell everyone to go to Hell yet seemed to be doing an inhumanly good job of holding it all in. Alan was giving Don space, and Terry had followed Alan's lead. Deep down though, the situation worried her. Don's coping mechanism was unhealthy, and it was something that weighed on her continually—not just at times like these. Often she just wanted to grab him and shake him until he came to his senses.

He must have sensed her studying him because he looked up at her then. She searched his eyes for a moment and was not surprised to find them impenetrable, as always. Ultimately she took to contemplating the standing plant in the corner instead.

123123123

Paul loved hospitals, especially at night, and he couldn't understand why people were always saying they hated them. His wife told him it was because he'd never lost anyone close to him. He supposed that made a certain amount of sense. Still, there was just something about the quiet hallways after hours, with the gentle beeps of machines and the faint glows that came from the rooms…he found it soothing. Plus hospitals were clean—and Paul definitely liked things to be clean. It was what made him so good at his job. He pushed his trashcan slowly down the hallway, mindful of the squeaky wheels and the sleeping patients nearby.

At the end of his rounds Paul came to the waiting room D, a favorite of his because it was small and typically in good shape already. As he neared the doorway he saw four people standing inside talking…one was obviously a doctor because he was in scrubs, then there was an older man, a young woman, and a younger guy with a cast on his arm.

Paul knew he would have to come back later to clean. He was about to turn away when curiosity once again got the better of him, and though he was too far away to hear what was being said, he stayed put and watched covertly through the opening of the doorway. The doctor had his back to him, but he could see that he was explaining something. He used his hands a lot as he spoke, like it was a difficult thing to get across.

Sensing bad news, Paul decided he really would turn away. But then, just as he was about to do so, the older man smiled—it was small smile at first, but it became broader and broader as the doctor went on, and so Paul continued to watch with renewed interest. Finally the doctor stopped speaking and by then the older man's smile was total, reaching his eyes. The lady was smiling too. The guy with the cast looked like he was in total shock, but the older man grabbed him and gave him a half-hug, shaking him gently as he laughed, and that got the guy to start smiling too. The older guy hugged the lady, and she laughed gently. She in turn hugged the guy in the cast. He quickly put his arms around her, although he still looked like he was in total shock. Suddenly the older guy latched onto the doctor, and that made everyone laugh.

Paul pushed his can slowly back down the hall with a smile on his own face. They seemed like a nice family.

He had always liked hospitals.

123123123

Don couldn't believe it. He literally could not believe that Charlie was going to be okay…just like that. Even the doctor had been surprised. Charlie had just pulled through somehow—he had shocked everyone. Don felt a rush of affection and pride for his younger brother. Charlie had cheated death. Something was finally going to turn out right in their lives. It was such a relief.

He looked over at his dad as they followed the nurse down the hall. Alan had known all along…had been absolutely certain, but to Don the whole thing was still unbelievable. Alan looked over at him and smiled broadly. Don smiled back. He felt Terry take his good hand and he turned to her and squeezed back gently, beaming. Everything was right with the world again.

They reached the door to Charlie's room and the nurse explained that they could only go in for a moment. They nodded that that was fine…Don really didn't care at this point, as long as they could see him and see that he really was going to be alright. Alan stepped in first, brushing by the nurse in his anxiousness. Terry seemed to hesitate like maybe she thought she should stay outside, so Don smiled at her and, not having let go of her hand, pulled her in gently with him.

But then all smiles faded into silence as they took in the sight of Charlie. Don let go of Terry's hand. Alan rubbed his chin subconsciously, his eyes arched in obvious despair. He pulled the nearby chair over and sat down slowly.

Every machine in the hospital must have been hooked up to Charlie. His chest rose and fell with a forced regularity, his eyes were taped shut and there were constant hums and beeps from the machines that stood like sentinels around him. He was pale, and he was still…broken to the point that it hurt just to look at him. It was hard to imagine someone coming back from this state…hard to imagine Charlie ever going from this to being Charlie again; joyful and impulsive and full of life.

Alan bowed his head and gently placed his hand on top of Charlie's. Don didn't know what to do. And then the choking sensation was back…the one that urged him to do something, to fix what was happening to his family—and for the eight thousandth time that day, he couldn't. Eventually Alan raised his head back up, wiping at his eyes briefly as he looked at Charlie. "I'm going to stay with him," he said. He had spoken softly yet his voice sounded deafening in the stillness of the room. He stood up and turned to Don. "Let Terry take you home," he said even more quietly, "you need to get some rest."

Don continued to stare at Charlie, trying to figure out what he should be doing. There had to be something. "Donny," Alan said louder, trying to break him out of his trance. He jumped slightly and looked at his father.

"You need to go home. I'll stay with him."

"They're not going to let you stay," Terry reminded Alan gently.

"They're not going to be able to stop me," he responded, never taking his eyes off Don's. "Donny," Alan said again. When he was sure he had his attention, he said, "Thank you."

Don's brow furrowed in confusion, and Alan pulled him into a hug. "I don't know everything that happened, but I know Charlie wouldn't have made it through this without you. I know you did everything you possibly could, and I know he's only alive because you were there."

_But he was only there because of me,_ Don thought angrily. He stared at Charlie over his father's shoulder and had a horrible feeling like everything inside him was starting to rip apart. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to hang onto his dad, bury his face like a little kid and pretend none of this had ever happened. For the first time in years he felt like he was losing control. It scared him and he pulled back from Alan abruptly.

"Call me if you need anything Dad," was all he could muster, but he was relieved to find his voice clear and steady.

"I will," Alan replied, obviously surprised he hadn't put up more of an argument.

Don nodded once, and giving Charlie one final glance, left the room as quickly as he could.

123123123

Terry looked over at Don as she walked alongside him, fury slowly building inside her. This was ridiculous. Why he insisted on doing this to himself was utterly beyond her. She was seriously debating grabbing him and calling him out on the whole thing, but he was walking more and more quickly by the second—any faster and she was going to have to jog just to keep up with him. She looked at him again. Cowardice was what it amounted to really; an inability to deal with difficult things. Running…he was actually trying to run away from this—it was ludicrous. She was about to open her mouth to tell him as much when suddenly he stopped, turning furious eyes on her.

"Stop doing that!" he yelled at her. "Quit looking at me like you're waiting for me to fall apart—for once in your life Terry would you just mind your own Goddamn business!"

She stood in a stunned silence as he took off again, angry at herself when she felt her eyes start to burn threateningly. She forced the hurt away with clinical precision and started after him, already a good distance back but already organizing the tirade she was going to deliver.

Up ahead she saw him miss a step, catching himself against the right hand wall as he continued on at an even faster pace. A few seconds later he staggered again, looking as if he had tripped over something. He seemed to make an extraordinary effort to keep moving, but ultimately fell to his knees. She watched him wrap both arms around his midsection and rock forward slowly.

She was with him in an instant. Her heart broke as she wrapped her arms around him and found that he immediately clung to her. His grief was all-consuming, and he shook with the force of it. She held him tightly, his face buried in her shoulder, shielding him from the strangers who occasionally passed by staring. She rocked him gently, shifting her grip on him occasionally so he would know she was still there. She whispered to him that everything was okay, then rested her chin on top of his head and closed her eyes.

Eventually he quieted, but it was some time later before he finally let go of her. She eased back from him then and they both stood up slowly. She wasn't surprised to find that he wouldn't meet her eyes. Awash in emotion herself and unsure of what words would best convey her feelings, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. It seemed to surprise him, but otherwise had the desired effect as he looked up and gave her a small, sad smile.

"Come on," she said softly, "let's get you home."

He followed her out the door willingly and for the first time ever, rode in the passenger seat of his own vehicle without saying a word.


	17. Seventeen

The Space Between 

**By**

**Tru False**

Chapter 17 A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews...it was really kind of difficult to get back into this having left it for so long. You guys are great and I really appreciate the time that a lot of you (and especially my regular reviewers) have put in to commenting on my writing. Some of this is kind of mushy, but I felt like we'd earned it with all that angst. One chapter after this and we are done. 

Neither Terry nor Don spoke as they climbed the stairs to Don's apartment although Terry, mindful of his injuries, kept a close eye on him to see if he was struggling. When they reached the top she handed him the keys, asking him which one was the door key. He handed them back to her with one singled out, leaning heavily against the doorframe as she worked the lock.

"Come on," she said softly, and sent him in first with her hand on his back. He started for the couch but she immediately steered him to the bedroom instead. "You need to get some real rest," she said. She realized how beat he was when he didn't argue with her, but simply allowed himself to be herded into the next room. He went straight for the bed, and she imagined that had he not had broken ribs, he would have literally fallen into it. Instead he gingerly sat down and eased himself onto his back with a slight grimace. When his head hit the pillow, his eyes were already closed.

"At least take your shoes off," she commented as she gently pulled them off his feet. She straightened up and looked at him. David's slightly-too-large clothes he would have to sleep in; she didn't have the heart to make him move around any more. She started to pull the sheets up over him when she noticed something folded up in his hand.

"What's this?" she asked as she took the papers from him.

Don's forced his eyes open at that.

"They were in the car," he said, his voice slurred with exhaustion. "I need to keep them. They might be important to him."

Terry unfolded the papers and looked at Charlie's notes, scrawled in what might as well have been a foreign language, and not for the first time that day felt a deep pang of sadness. Had he really been riding in the car with them, fine as could be, just that morning? She folded the papers back up quietly.

"I'll put them right here," she said as she laid the notes down on the nightstand beside him. He nodded once as his eyes drifted shut again. She pulled the covers the rest of the way up and sat down next to him on the edge of the bed.

"I'm supposed to wake you up every few hours, so I'll apologize for that now," she said softly. He nodded once again and made a small grunt of acceptance, though he didn't open his eyes.

"I'll be right outside if you need anything, okay?"

He didn't respond and his even breathing told her he was already asleep. She couldn't resist running a hand gently through his hair before she stood.

On her way out the door, something on his wardrobe caught her eye—a picture, clearly Don and a girl. She leaned in closer to look at it. It was nosy, but she couldn't help it…she had always been curious about Kim. The corners of her mouth turned up as she studied the picture of a young, happy looking Don, baseball cap turned backwards and beer in hand, his arms wrapped around a young, happy looking Terry, baseball cap forwards and hands in his back pockets. She turned back to him, surprised. A moment later, she slipped silently through the door, pulling it to a crack behind her.

She set the alarm on her cell phone for three hours later, then stretched out on his sofa and closed her eyes. She drifted to sleep with the ghost of a smile still on her lips.

123123123 

Three days later

Don sat alongside Charlie's bed in the green vinyl chair, his feet propped up on the bottom edge of Charlie's mattress, his eyes intent on the television screen playing quietly in the far corner.

"He needs to be playing in closer on this guy," he commented to Charlie, shaking his head.

There was a crack and then a roar from the fans. "See what I'm saying…line drive left, every time."

He looked over at his brother, whose chest still rose and fell with a forced rhythm. His dad had told him the doctors said they should talk to Charlie, but he had tried it and felt stupid. Watching baseball with him though—that was a different matter. That didn't feel stupid at all.

Don turned back to the TV, dropping his head back over the back of the chair for a moment to stretch his neck. He had been there for five hours so far—a short shift compared to the hours his dad has been keeping. They had agreed that one of them should be there at all times…they didn't want Charlie waking up alone in the hospital. Don was relieved to be back in the rotation; he had had to miss all of yesterday to have surgery on his thumb, and it had been difficult to be away. He looked down at his left hand, now cast-free but sporting a pretty horrific looking contraption with various pins that ran into his hand. He turned it over gently in his lap. It was starting to throb again, but he wanted to wait to take a painkiller because they always made him drowsy.

His cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket and answered immediately, looking over at Charlie as if the ringing could have somehow disturbed him.

"Eppes," he answered quietly.

"You're not working for three weeks Don, you could answer like a normal person."

"Hey Terry. What's up?" he asked her.

"David and I have a new case. We're heading out to Reno; we were just wondering about Charlie."

"There's no change really," he replied, looking at his brother again. "But they took away another machine this morning, and they tell me that's a good thing." He was quiet for a moment. "Why isn't Albuquerque working the Reno case?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Albuquerque's shorthanded."

"_Albuquerque's_ shorthanded?"

"That's what they said," she answered.

"What's the case?"

"No way Don. You're on leave for three weeks, and it's been two days. _Rest_. And call us if there's any change with Charlie."

"Terry, come on—"

"Oh, and Don? Take your painkillers." The phone clicked as she ended the connection.

Don flipped his own phone shut and looked at Charlie. "How does she do that?" he asked him.

123123123

Charlie blinked rapidly as he struggled into awareness. It was a strange sensation at first, but eventually he came around enough to realize he was in a blindingly bright room. And he was instantly disappointed to find his world was still filled with pain. He was trying to orient himself when the most horrible thing happened—his lungs expanded broadly, and when they did, his whole chest exploded in fire. Almost as quickly, the air whooshed out of them. He was still trying to recover from it when mercilessly, the process started over again. He realized then that it was happening against his will—he was definitely trying _not_ to breathe. He tried to call out for help, but when he did, nothing happened. _Nothing_. Not a moan, not a whimper…nothing. Something was choking him, but he couldn't even gag against it. This had to be what drowning felt like—it was terrifying. He couldn't understand why all this was happening to him. He couldn't understand what he had done to deserve it…all he wanted was to wake up and not hurt anymore.

123123123

Don jerked awake in his chair, immediately angry with himself for falling asleep. He instinctively looked to check on Charlie, and almost fell out of his chair. Charlie was awake! He started to smile, but then he saw the wild, distressed look in Charlie's eyes and realized what had woken him. Charlie was reaching for the respirator…groggily trying to pull it from his throat, his face twisted in pain.

"Charlie," Don called urgently and leaned over him, awkwardly taking one and then the other of Charlie's wrists in his good hand. It was fortunate that Charlie was weak, or he wouldn't have been able to manage it.

"Charlie," he said again, making sure he was in his line of vision. "It's okay. Just relax—don't fight it."

But Charlie didn't relax. Don went to reach for the nurse's call button but realized he couldn't let go of Charlie's wrists. As his other hand was useless, he had to contort his arm until he somehow managed to punch the call button with his elbow.

Before he could even speak, a crackly reply came over the small speaker. "We've seen the monitors. A nurse is on the way and we're paging the doctor."

Thank God for small favors. He turned his attention back to Charlie.

"Charlie, listen to me. You're okay. Open your eyes Charlie."

Finally he did so and Don smiled at him reassuringly. "Hey Buddy," he said quickly. "It's okay. You're in the hospital. You're on a machine to help you breathe…don't fight it, okay? You understand me?"

Charlie's eyes closed tightly again as his chest rose sharply, then fell. He nodded his head briefly, grimacing as the movement shifted the tube in his throat. He opened his eyes again, searching for Don.

"They're coming right now Charlie. They'll give you something…just hang on for me for one more second."

Charlie kept his eyes glued on Don. "You with me now?" he asked him after a moment. Charlie didn't make any motions but Don sensed a 'yes' from him and gently let go of his wrists.

A nurse came bustling through the door then, followed a split second later by Charlie's surgeon, Dr. Grissen. "Dr. Eppes," he said cheerily as he approached the bed, "it's nice to have you with us again."

"He's in a lot of pain," Don informed him immediately.

"I'm sure," the doctor replied with genuine sympathy. "We're going to give you something in just a moment," he said to Charlie. "We just need to check a few things first…"

Don forced himself to sit back in his chair as the doctor checked Charlie over, occasionally making a comment to the nurse, who scribbled quickly on what must have been Charlie's chart. Soon the doctor stood back, addressing Charlie but also looking to Don. "You're awake a little sooner than we expected, but I'm reluctant to take you off the ventilator just yet," he explained. "What we can do is basically 'turn it down' a notch…you'll be able to breathe on your own, but if you're not pulling enough oxygen, then the machine will take over for you. If you continue to progress at this rate, we should be able to take you off completely in a day or so."

Charlie nodded his ascension—he would have agreed to anything that stopped the horrible forced inflating sensation—and immediately grimaced when the tube moved in his throat.

"Obviously it's very uncomfortable to be intubated, so we're going to give you something now to help you sleep." Dr. Grissen nodded to his nurse, who had already pulled a measure of liquid into a syringe. She went to reach for the IV line when Charlie stopped her, putting his hand up to indicate he wanted her to wait. She looked surprised, but complied.

"Charlie," Don implored him, "you need to rest."

Charlie turned his eyes to Don and slowly held his hand out to him. Don was taken aback for a moment, but then reached out and clasped hands with him, surprised at the strength in Charlie's grip.

Charlie held his brother's eyes with an intense stare, desperately trying to convey a multitude of thanks and love without the benefit of words. Though he really didn't remember everything that had happened, he was certain that Don was the reason he had made it through. He worried for a moment that maybe Don couldn't understand what he was trying to express, but then he saw the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly, even as his eyes swam threateningly. Charlie watched him blink the emotion back and felt him squeeze his hand.

Don turned his attention to the nurse for a split second, nodding to indicate that she should go ahead, then immediately turned back to Charlie and kept his eyes locked with his. Slowly, Charlie's eyes drifted shut, and Don felt himself begin to relax as the pain finally eased itself out of his brother's features.

It was a good ten minutes later, long after the doctor and nurse had left them, when Don finally let go of his hand.


	18. Eighteen

**A/N:** Do we even remember this story? My apologies for leaving the threads dangling for so long. If you're happy to see a wrap-up to this, then the thanks goes to Patty, whose review absolutely _shamed_ me into writing it, and also to Simanis who twisted the knife a few days later. And while I'm thanking people, I would be remiss not to give a nod to AJ Wesley, whom I had some very good charter discussions with while writing this…someone dropped the conversation ball there, and it was almost certainly me. Anyway, on with the end of the story. Hope it reads okay…it was kind of tough to get back into this after so long, but this is more or less the ending I had in mind originally.

**The Space Between**

**By**

**Tru False**

Chapter 18

3 weeks later

Don entered the hospital through the west entrance, his many visits having made him far more familiar than he ever would have liked with the building's myriad hallways and corridors. Charlie had been moved twice since the day he had woken up; once out of ICU and a second time to the hospital's rehab wing. In the process, Don had gotten to know his way around pretty well. Most of the time he took the stairwells rather than the elevators, and some of the staff were familiar enough to nod as he passed.

He pushed through the double doors and turned into Charlie's hallway with a bounce in his step. Charlie was looking good these days…his color was back and he had somehow managed to gain a few pounds on hospital food. Don was fairly sure they would release him soon and he was truly relieved—for once that happened, everything could go back to normal. No more trips to the hospital. Don could go back to work. Hell, pretty soon Charlie could go back to work. He was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel—a return to normalcy. It was crazy, but the old routine had never seemed so appealing to him. The old routine was good—_great_—in fact. Because in the old routine, there had been no defibrillators, no ventilators…no all-night bedside vigils.

Don opened the door to Charlie's room to find Amita sitting in a chair beside his bed, her cheeks puffed out as she blew hard into a plastic container. She broke into a laugh at a comment Charlie made to her and abandoned what she had been doing. They both turned to look at Don as he stepped inside.

"Hey Charlie," he said. "Amita." He nodded to her.

"Hey Don," Charlie answered, smiling. Amita put the tube-like container down on the table by the bed, giving Don a slightly embarrassed smile.

"You know, if I'm interrupting anything…" Don started alludingly.

"No," Amita replied, "I was actually just leaving—I have class in an hour. I just can't get enough Physics," she said, turning her attention back to Charlie, "it's so…dynamic" she added with a sly smile. He rolled his eyes and she grinned at what Don could only assume was an inside joke between them. "I'll see you later Charlie," she told him, and started for the door.

"Okay," he answered softly, his eyes never leaving her form as she drifted across the floor. "Thanks for coming by."

She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a coy smile as she closed the door softly behind her. Don watched her go and felt a little sorry for his brother…he had a feeling Amita knew how to play the game just a little bit better than Charlie did.

"So?" Don questioned him after a second.

Charlie leaned back against his pillows and put his hands behind his head. "So what?"

"_So_…Have you decided to do anything about that yet?"

"You know, surprising though this may be," Charlie started sarcastically, "I find my current situation something of an obstacle insofar as 'doing something about that' goes," he said, indicating the bed he lay in.

"Well, there you go. You're looking at this all wrong," Don informed him. "This is the perfect opportunity. This," he pointed at the bed, "is a clear advantage…the sympathy play."

"The Sympathy Play? Really." Charlie seemed unimpressed.

"Yeah," Don replied, as if Charlie should've been intimately familiar with the concept. "The Sympathy Play. Remember this, Charlie: all women love sensitive guys—"

"—Hence your consistent lack of female companionship," he cut in.

"—and 'sensitive' is second cousin to 'vulnerable', which is what they really love the most. It's like the whole puppy dog and baby thing—Trust me…next time she comes by, you're so weak you can't even feed yourself. She'll melt."

Charlie laughed. "I tell you what…I'll stick to my strategies, and you stick to yours, and we'll see who arrives at puppy dogs and babies first."

"Hey, if you don't want to learn from my years of experience—"

"—you mean rejection?"

"—then so be it. You know, you can only teach the willing Charlie."

Charlie smirked at Don's use of one of his own lines. When Charlie offered no further comment, Don smiled back at him, victorious.

"So," he offered, changing the subject. "What is that thing she was messing with?" He indicated the container on Charlie's table.

"Ah," Charlie started, sitting up a little straighter. "_This," _he picked up the tubed container, "is a spirometer. Well, a very basic one. The more advanced models are digital and can record both the forced vital capacity, or 'FVC' as well as the functional residual capacity, which is basically just the flow of—"

"—okay, short version Charlie," Don cut him off.

"Uh…basically you breathe into it as hard as you can. The further up you can move the ball inside the tube, the better your pulmonary health. It also helps to keep your lungs clear of fluid."

"Oh yeah?" Don said, "Lemme see you do it."

Charlie put the tube in his mouth and took as deep a breath as he could before the pain flared in his side. He blew out and moved the ball to just over the 3 liter line. Don watched with interest.

"How'd you do?"

"Not great," Charlie admitted. "I'm at about 65 of where I should be."

"Oh yeah?" Don said, taking the spirometer from him. "Well, you're still recovering."

Charlie nodded.

"So, what's average?" Don asked nonchalantly.

Charlie smiled—for some reason, Don was always obsessed with being better than average. "Four to Six Liters. That marker on the side there…that's five liters. That's my goal."

"Huh," Don commented. "Mind if I…"

"Go ahead," Charlie said. He watched as Don drew in an enormous breath, then exhaled long and hard. Charlie leaned over to look at the meter.

"Wow," he said in earnest, "7.4…that's...wow."

"Pretty good, huh?"

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Yeah," he agreed. "I'd say that's…exceptional—probably for an athlete even."

Don smiled broadly at him.

"So," Charlie commented, "I guess now we _know_ you're a blow hard—"

"Shut up," Don said, tossing the spirometer at Charlie, who caught it easily.

"Hey, I actually came by because the game's about to start. I thought you might wanna watch it?"

"Yeah, okay," Charlie replied. He put the spirometer back on the table.

Don picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV up on the wall. Charlie watched him as he flipped through the channels. Despite his impatience with the sluggish remote, Don looked really good these days…better than Charlie had seen him look in a long time. He was tanned and relaxed, and he smiled easily—all the time. Charlie liked the new, relaxed Don—he liked him a lot. But then something about Don's improved mood had also been nagging at Charlie for a while now.

"Hey, Don?" he ventured after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." He said, still flipping through the channels. "What's up?"

Charlie studied him for a moment, mulling. "Do you like your job?"

Don stopped what he was doing and looked over at him. "Umm…yeah Charlie," he replied, clearly unsure where this was going. "I mean, there are parts of it that aren't easy," he continued, "like what happened with…" he indicated vaguely towards Charlie, "you know." Charlie shifted his gaze down to his hands. "But yeah, I like it. I mean, I would hope I do, since I spend most of my time there. It's more or less the reason I exist."

Charlie considered this for a moment. "But not lately you aren't…spending all your time there."

"No, not lately. Because I'm on leave—you know that." Don was beginning to look at him with concern.

"Yeah, I know," Charlie replied quickly. He fiddled with the spirometer on the table for a moment, then dropped his hand back to his lap and fixed his gaze on Don again. "I guess it's just that lately—since you've been away from work—you seem really…happy," Charlie explained, "A lot happier than I've seen you in as long as I can remember. So I just wondered."

Don looked at Charlie, an incredulous smile spreading across his face. "Charlie," he started, and half-laughed. "You almost _died_. And now you're okay. Do you understand that?"

Charlie stared blankly at him.

Don's cell phone chose that moment to ring, and he shook his head at Charlie with a relieved look as he excused himself. "Eppes," he answered.

Charlie watched his brother move away from him with mild fascination. The idea that his own recuperation had that much to do with Don's good mood seemed unfathomable. But then, even as Charlie toyed with this revelation, he could hear Don talking in intense tones to the person on the other end of his phone, assuring them that it wasn't a problem, that his doctor had cleared him for duty and he was ready to go—that if they needed him, he could come in right then. The conversation continued from that point with Don doing a lot of listening, and when he ultimately flipped his phone shut a few minutes later and looked over to Charlie…that was it. In the blink of an eye, Relaxed Don was gone. Fun Don was gone. And in his place, working Don was back…that guy who walked around with that look in his eyes—intense and firm, determined, and full of purpose.

"Charlie, I have to go," he stated flatly.

"I know," Charlie replied and smiled slightly, for Don was already backing himself out of the room with one hand on the door. "I heard."

"I'm gonna need to be out of town for a while." Don pointed at Charlie. "Hey," he paused for a moment, and nodded at him. "I'm gonna call you and see how you're doing, okay?"

Charlie gave him a small, knowing smile. "Yeah, okay. See ya—"

His only response was a whoosh of air as the door swung shut. Charlie leaned back against his pillows and, taking a deep breath which inevitably caused a stab of pain in his side, punched the channel button on the remote. Three channels up he found the ballgame, which he watched with a half-hearted interest.

**123123123**

2 weeks later

Charlie sat at the dining table, scribbling notes into his binder with a great intensity. Alan looked up from where he was setting the table and considered his youngest, thankful still to have his son back—even if he was once again oblivious to everything around him except his work. Alan had sworn never to complain about that again, and he meant it. He would rather have Charlie there, even if his mind wasn't _there_, than the all too real alternative. The thought still sent a chill down his spine.

Charlie paused for one moment to pull up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before diving back into his notes. Alan crossed the room and turned the thermostat down a few degrees.

"Dinner's ready Charlie."

"Hmm…Okay," Charlie responded without slowing down or looking up and Alan knew he hadn't registered it.

He put Charlie's plate down on the placemat that sat at an angle to his books and went about eating his own meal. Charlie would get around to eating at some point – probably long after the food was cold – and while normally this might have irritated Alan, right now he was just happy to have Charlie healthy and active. At this particular point in time, Charlie could do no wrong in his father's eyes—and even Alan knew it. Had Don been around, he mused, he probably would have chided Charlie for not taking better advantage of it.

As if by telepathy, the phone rang then. Completely unfazed, Charlie continued to work as Alan went to answer it.

"Hello? Hey, Donnie! I was just thinking about you…No, we just haven't heard from your for a while. Mmhmm…well, it would only take you 30 seconds to pick up the phone and call us you know. Yeah, well, not to me you're not. No he's doing well, he looks good. Yes, of course…hang on a second." He approached Charlie. "I'd better warn you though," he added, "he's working…" Alan held the phone down into Charlie's line of sight.

"Charlie, it's your brother."

Charlie moved his head to one side so he had a clear view of his paper, then took the phone in one hand while he continued writing with the other. "Hey Don," he said distractedly.

Alan watched as Don apparently did most of the talking and Charlie responded with grunts and "yeah's". Then Charlie perked up a little and asked, "So you need my help with that?"

Whatever Don answered must have confused Charlie because his forehead furrowed slightly as he continued with his equations.

"Well, I don't see why you're calling then…" he said finally.

Don responded with something and Charlie paused. Alan watched with interest as he slowly set his pencil down next to his binder.

"Oh, okay. No, no—" Charlie added quickly "…I'm not busy. Ah…" he paused, "…well, not much—the usual." Don said something else and Charlie seemed to relax in his chair a little. "…No, I didn't watch it but I read about it the next day…You know the odds of that were like 5 million to 1—Well, actually it was more like…" his voice trailed off into a quick muttered calculation, "…4.82…6…So yeah," Charlie's voice returned to normal volume, "about 5 million to 1…". Charlie pushed his chair back from the table and propped his feet up in the one next to him, laughing at whatever Don's response was.

Alan got up from the table to take his plate to the kitchen. He felt a smile cross his lips as he realized he was listening to something he had never heard before, something that would have made his wife eternally happy. For the first time he could remember, his two boys—polar opposites and consummate rivals—were chatting to each other like old friends.

THE END


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